


Of Bludgers and Hearts

by wreckofherheart



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Everybody can cast magic and it's so very gay, F/F, Gen, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Quidditch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-13 00:54:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4501551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wreckofherheart/pseuds/wreckofherheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch Team is under a great deal of pressure to win the next Match. Fortunately, she has her best friend to ease her nerves. For the most part.</p><p>[Harry Potter AU, in which Peggy is Quidditch crazy and Angie is her Hufflepuff Gal Pal.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 01

          The Slytherin Quidditch Team were drunk at practice today.

 

          Actually, to be precise, only _two_ members of the Slytherin Quidditch Team were drunk at practice today. What with them being the Beaters, their names were well known within Hogwarts, and rumour spread fast that not only were Jack Thompson and Gilbert Ryan absolutely _pissed_ this morning, but so was their Captain: Margaret Carter. And Margaret Carter being drunk? During practice? When their Quidditch Match against Ravenclaw is only in a few of weeks? One can only imagine the flood of gossip. 

 

          No, Peggy was not drunk at practice today, but she wishes she was.

 

          Because never in her God given days has she ever felt so humiliated. Thompson was most out of order, yelling out not-so-flattering slurs towards a few girls observing the chaos, as well as making fool of himself once he did manage to hop onto his broom. His flying was, to put it lightly, _dreadful_. Miraculously, he did manage to hit a Bludger in the opposite direction of his Seeker, but that was just before he thought it would be a brilliant idea to swerve around on his broom and actually topple off.

 

          Afterwards, Thompson––bloody-nosed and still drunk––decided to flirt with his Captain.

 

          Bad idea. 

 

          Now, Thompson is in the Hospital Wing, not just because of a broken nose, but also because of a broken arm, thanks to his dear Captain. Peggy regrets losing her temper, especially because Thompson will not be able to fly a broom if he doesn’t heal fast. Fortunately, Madam Pomfrey is a whizz at fixing broken bones, and she assured Peggy that he will be able to play during the Match. That is one small relief Peggy can relish in, at least.

 

          Several Slytherins are whispering, hunched up together, and glancing at Peggy while she finishes her homework. She catches the word “embarrassment”. Although she is used to gossip at the Slytherin table, Peggy knows they are discussing her Quidditch Team, and while Thompson did act like a prick, that doesn’t mean the rest of her Team should be punished for his behaviour as well! 

 

          There is a butter knife leaning against a plate nearby. True, it’s not _sharp_ , but she’s tempted to jab it into their sides––just a minor warning that if you mock her Quidditch Team, you are also mocking her, and Peggy is _very_ protective of her teammates. She’s eyeing the butter knife when she hears her name amongst the whispers, but before she can act, someone sits beside her, blocking her view of the knife.

 

          ‘Hey, doll. Why so blue?’

 

          Peggy groans. ‘Remember the last time you sat here?’

 

          ‘Oh, so I’m not allowed to sit with you! Who cares?’

 

          ‘Everybody, apparently.’

 

          ‘Then everybody can _stick it_.’

 

          Angie Martinelli, while she is a dear, tends to have her foot in her mouth, and she also makes quite a loud job of it as well. The whispering Slytherins have stopped talking, now watching the two girls. One of them scowls at Angie, and even has the audacity to lean over and say, ‘You’re a Hufflepuff. Go sit on your own table.’

 

          'You’re gonna have to try harder than that if you want me to move,’ Angie says, not at all bothered that a fellow Slytherin is basically threatening her to leave.

 

          He stands up now, clearly insulted. ‘You really don’t think I can _make_ you, Martinelli? This is the _Slytherin_ table, where the _Slytherins_ sit at. Piss off.’

 

          Before Angie can open her mouth to retort, Peggy jumps to her feet, glaring at him. ‘Talk to my friend that way again, then I’ll make sure you won’t be able  to sit _at all_ for the next month. Have we got that clear?’

 

          Half of the table have fallen silent, especially now that the Quidditch Captain has spoken. The Slytherin student watches Peggy with a mixture of fear and anger. He glances at Angie, who just sits there, smiling pleasantly. No one has been able to fight these two apart, and this student isn’t keen to be the first. 

 

          Scoffing, he sits back down, but not before muttering, ‘Mudblood.’

 

          Usually Angie brushes aside such an old, and crude insult. She has no shame in the fact her parents are, indeed, Muggles. Peggy, however, has extremely strong views, especially concerning what makes a Witch a Witch and what makes a Wizard a Wizard. The stereotype is that Slytherins only associate themselves with Pure Bloods. The reality is that most Slytherins enjoy the company of Half Bloods and Muggle Borns.

 

          This creep does not help Peggy in ridding the stereotype.

 

          Nor she does she _appreciate_ him saying such a horrid word.

 

          ‘What did you say?’ She demands.

 

          Angie winces visibly, and takes Peggy’s hand. ‘He ain’t worth it, English.’ 

 

          The male student tries to ignore Peggy’s burning glare, but now his friends have started to feel the effect as well. ‘Did you hear me?’ Peggy’s voice has tightened. Even some Ravenclaws have started to watch the scene from their table. ‘I insist you repeat what you just said, and then suffer the consequences you deserve.’

 

          ‘Pegs, stop it!’

 

          ‘He shouldn’t call you that. He _shouldn’t_ call you that!’

 

          ‘I don’t think you have the right to tell me how to behave, Carter, when you can’t even control your own Quidditch Team.’

 

          Now Angie _does_ react. She whips her head around at him, and he’s so taken aback by her frightening approach, he even tips back slightly. ‘That’s some loyalty ya got there! Ya only need common sense to realise that it’s all gossip, y’know? None of it is true––actually, I think the Thompson gettin’ drunk part is––but aside from that, anybody knows for a fact that Peggy wouldn’t get drunk _ever_ , and neither would her teammates. I’m not even a part of her Team and _I_ know that!’

 

          He’s quiet now. In fact, he can’t even look at Angie, he’s blushing so heavily. Peggy gently rests a hand on Angie’s arm, and the two women remain standing while the male student finally takes a leave, ego bruised. His friends soon follow. Relieved to be rid of them, Peggy sits back down next to Angie. They both say nothing for a short while. Peggy glances at the staring Ravenclaws who quickly look away.

 

          The rumours about the Slytherin Team will evaporate soon, but Peggy notes to give Thompson a good scolding once he walks his sorry arse out of the Hospital Wing. Angie watches Peggy out of the corner of her eye, then looks down to her homework. Peggy is already working on her essay for Defence Against the Dark Arts, and it isn’t due for another three months. Mind, Peggy has a knack for working far too early, her essays in weeks before the actual deadline. 

 

          It’s what makes her such a good Quidditch Captain, though. Peggy is organised, in love with her work, and very strict on the rules of the game. Not to mention she’s a great mentor all around. Her Team are always given an inspiring little speech before each Match. The Slytherin Quidditch Team are right next to Gryffindor as far as ability is concerned; the two best Teams in the school. 

 

          How Peggy manages to split her time with Quidditch and work is beyond Angie, and _still_ her friend passes with top grades.

 

          It’s kind of annoying.

 

          ‘You all right, English?’

 

          Peggy smiles at her. In truth, no, she’s not all right, and Angie is aware of that. It’s nice that someone cares, though. ‘Spiffing.’ Peggy inhales. ‘Thank you. By the way. For defending my case. You honestly didn’t need to do that.’

 

          ‘Sure I did,’ Angie shrugs. ‘And, hey, you were the one who got in a state, English. I don’t care what they call me.’ She smiles crookedly. ‘Weren’t you the one going on about knowing your own value? That applies here, doesn’t it?’

 

          ‘Of course. I’m still allowed to feel–– _passionate_ about it.’

 

          ‘Ah, so is _passionate_ the word?’

 

          ‘Perhaps,’ Peggy says through jarred teeth. Angie giggles. It is musical to Peggy’s ears, and she has to smirk at her friend’s response. ‘We need to practice more. I won’t wait on Thompson. It’s his own bloody fault if he can’t join us. My Seeker, the new student I told you about, isn’t too shabby. He is awfully nervous, however. I tried to help him find the Snitch the other day, and he only ended up flying straight into a tree.’ Peggy grimaces. ‘Poor thing. He had a few bruises afterwards.’

 

          ‘Ouch.’

 

          ‘I have complete faith in him, though. He’s an excellent Seeker when he’s confident, and I always choose my players carefully.’ Angie rolls her eyes, smiling. Peggy has a habit for babbling when she’s anxious. ‘I suppose the worst thing that could happen during the Match is if our Seeker lost his balance, but I definitely intend to focus on balance a lot more during practice; I feel that would benefit each of us, wouldn’t you agree?’

 

          Angie raises her brows, rather surprised. Why does Peggy ask her about these things? Frankly, if Angie’s best friend weren't so involved in Quidditch, Angie wouldn’t care less. That’s a lie, actually. Angie _would_ care, but certainly not as much. She stares at Peggy for a moment, amused at how focussed and determined she is. Angie, admittedly, finds Peggy her most fetching at times like these. Not that she’ll ever admit to it.

 

          Instead, Angie teases her, ‘You talk too much, English.’

 

          Peggy accepts that. ‘Mm.’

 

          ‘I was with Steve today while you were at practice.’

 

          At the mention of her friend, Peggy’s face brightens. Angie ignores the funny twist in her stomach. ‘You were? How is he?’

 

          ‘Fine, until he fell down the stairs.’

 

          ‘ _What_?’

 

          ‘It’s okay! I was there. I helped him up afterwards.’ Angie snorts. ‘He falls gracefully as well.’

 

          ‘Angie.’

 

          ‘I swear, he’s fine, Pegs!’ She pulls a face. ‘God, his best buddy just kept biting at me for not lookin’ out for him. It ain’t my fault if he decides to run off.’ She pauses. ‘I may have provoked it.’ Another pause. Peggy raises a brow at her. ‘All right, I _may_ have chased him down the corridor, but Bucky doesn’t need to jab his finger at me whenever Steve gets hurt.’

 

          Peggy wants to slam her head into the table.

 

          While Bucky is very protective of Steve, he has every right to be! Steve has the biggest heart in the entirety of Hogwarts, but the weakest immune system possible. It’s impressive how many colds Steve can catch each season; Peggy tends to find herself playing the role of “tissue provider”. The warning bell is sounded the moment Steve sneezes. And Peggy is always there to pass him several boxes of tissues.

 

          As well as his inhaler, which the vast majority of students are perplexed with.

 

          Those ignorant of the Muggle World truly are unbearable. 

 

 

 

 

 

          ‘It didn’t actually hurt,’ Steve says later that day, when he and Peggy sit on the windowsill, looking down at Hogwarts grounds. ‘Ange threatened to steal my wand, so I ran off––I missed my step and slipped. Honestly, I am fine.’

 

          ‘You’re an idiot.’

 

          ‘True.’

 

          Peggy sighs, and watches three students run into the Castle, another skipping behind. ‘I suppose you heard the latest gossip about my Team.’

 

          ‘Why are you tolerating Thompson? I mean…’ Steve averts his gaze, ‘Neither you or I are fond of him.’

 

          Peggy recounts a few months ago when Thompson had started bullying Steve, and even accused him of having a crush on Peggy. To nobody’s surprise, that spread further gossip around the school, and Bucky certainly sunk in his message to Thompson that if ever spread rumour around like that again, there would be consequences to pay. Thompson never mentioned Steve and Peggy in the same sentence again.

 

          Tapping her fingers against her arm, Peggy drifts off into her own thoughts, particularly on the Match. Maybe she should get rid of Thompson. He is a very good Beater. Fantastic, even, but most days she just cannot stand him. Surely as Captain of the Team, she has the right to dismiss him. Or, maybe she should call it to a vote? Peggy trails a finger over her lower lip, considering her options, and is disturbed when a shower of pink love hearts flutter around her, falling into her lap.

 

          She looks up to find Steve grinning at her, shaking his wand where the love hearts pour from.

 

          ‘Why the long face, Pegs?’

 

          It always amazes her how he is able to cast spells like that. She reaches out and holds his wand hand. ‘The Match is soon. That’s why I have a long face.’

 

          He mocks a pout. ‘Why, though? You know your Team is awesome. I sometimes wish I was Slytherin and became a player, but what with my–– _issues_ , I wouldn’t stand a chance. The slightest gust of wind would knock me off my broom.’

 

          ‘Nonsense,’ Peggy insists. ‘I’d give you all the time in the world to practice. You should bring yourself up to the challenge, Steve.’

 

          ‘Thanks, Pegs. Maybe I will. I dunno.’ He knows. Steve won’t be touching a broomstick anytime soon. When he travels to Peggy’s over the Summer, he definitely tries out Quidditch with her, but that is Quidditch with Peggy, when he doesn’t have to worry over competition and the opposing side. More to the point, Peggy is fantastic at Quidditch, and kicks his butt, even when she tries to go easy on him.

 

          Quidditch simply isn’t for Steve.

 

          ‘Can I tell you something?’ Steve asks.

 

          ‘Do.’

 

          ‘You promise not to get mad?’

 

          ‘I promise.’

 

          ‘Howard bets his entire vault that you’re going to lose the Match.’ A frightening darkness passes Peggy’s face. Steve gulps. ‘I just want you to know that I betted against him––and he’ll lose! I know he will, because you’re a winner, Pegs.’

 

          She scowls. ‘That wanker had better be careful. Did he honestly bet his Galleons on _Ravenclaw_?’

 

          ‘Yeah,’ Steve rubs the back of his head. ‘He thinks Dottie Underwood has a better chance at beating you.’

 

          ‘Oh, pish-posh! Just because he’s dating her. What an utter fool. If he keeps up with that sort of behaviour, then he’ll end up with no friends.’ Peggy scowls to herself. Dottie Underwood. Her one, true rival. She is Captain of the Ravenclaw Quidditch Team, a Beater, and she’s brilliant as well, if not more brilliant than Peggy. The two girls have always had issue with one another, ever since First Year. 

 

          Things got nasty when Peggy beat her during their first match.

 

          Thing got even uglier when Dottie deliberately hit a Bludger in Peggy’s direction, knocking Peggy off her broom.

 

          Steve is grinning. She grins back. ‘What?’

 

          ‘Nothing,’ he chortles, ‘It’s just Angie was right: you take yourself _way_ too seriously.’

 

 

 

 

 

          The next day, in Hogsmeade, Howard earns a shock when Peggy kicks him into the wall. Howard blurts out how sorry he is, and that he’ll make it up to her in any way she likes, which does hinder Peggy from beating him to a pulp. She forgets how easy it is to make this man petrified. He may act smooth and confident, but around Peggy, he realises who’s boss, and while they might be close friends, they still have their silly fallouts. To Howard’s luck (and relief), Angie is with Peggy at the time, and manages to pry Peggy’s hands off him. 

 

          Peggy huffs at him. ‘You are insufferable.’

 

          ‘You know I’m on your side,’ Howard says. ‘But, seriously, if I bet against Dottie, can you imagine what she’d do to me?’

 

          ‘Indeed, but did you care to imagine what I’d do to _you_?’

 

          Howard cocks a brow. Angie realises this discussion isn’t going anywhere, and steps between them. ‘Is it possible for you two to have a day _without_ fighting?’

 

          ‘See?’ Howard asks, smiling at Angie fondly. ‘Your friend is so nice.’

 

          ‘Stay away,’ Peggy glowers.

 

          Angie rolls her eyes.

 

          ‘I’ve always found Hufflepuffs so charming,’ Howard grins, and looks at Peggy. ‘You should take a leaf out of her book.’

 

          ‘I’ll have you know––'

 

          ‘Will you both  _quit it_?’ Angie intercepts, pushing Peggy back. ‘Who cares who betted against who? The fact of the matter is that Pegs is gonna win, and you’re the one who’s gonna lose out the most, Mister. Girlfriend or not.’

 

          Howard flushes. ‘Sharp tongue.’ He flashes his eyes at Peggy. ‘So you _do_ have a type.’

 

          ‘Yes, unlike you, who seems pretty content in sleeping with whatever walks on two legs.’

 

          Howard raises his brows. ‘I can’t really deny that. Look, Peggy, I’m sorry. If I can make it up to you in any way.’ He looks back at Angie, and his smile broadens. ‘Or, _you_ , my dear lady.’ 

 

          That is it.

 

          One moment Peggy’s wand is in her grasp.

 

          The next Howard’s trousers are down to his ankles, and several passing students point and laugh at the unfolding event.

 

          As red as a tomato, Howard shoves his trousers back up. 

 

          Angie stifles a giggle of her own.

 

          Now in a foul and embarrassed mood, Howard steps past the young Italian, and then Peggy, whispering, ‘That wasn’t necessary.’ Peggy just watches him leave, a smug smile plastered on her face. She won’t admit to it, but that felt good. That felt _really_ good, and there is nothing more satisfying than watching Howard Stark walk away, red-faced. She turns to a laughing Angie.

 

          Peggy grins, pleased with her work.

 

          ‘One day you’re gonna get in trouble for abusing your spells.’

 

          ‘As if you’re one to talk,’ Peggy reminds. ‘Come on. I’m dying for a Butterbeer.’

 

          Both Witches enter The Three Broomsticks together, and order their drinks, before sitting at the farthest table beside the window. Peggy can identify several students socialising with their friends, although this afternoon there are a mixture of adults as well. She takes a sip of her Butterbeer, and glances to the right, spotting Dottie Underwood with another girl Peggy recognises.

 

          Her heart stops.

 

          Angie frowns at her when Peggy chokes slightly on her Butterbeer.

 

          ‘What’s got into you?’ She asks.

 

          'N––Nothing.’

 

          Angie isn’t stupid. She follows Peggy’s line of gaze, and instantly recognises the elegant blonde seated a few tables away. Dottie allegedly hasn’t noticed them, but it isn’t Dottie which has made Peggy so flustered. The girl accompanying Dottie is also blonde, extremely attractive, and who used to be Peggy’s fellow Chaser in the Slytherin Team. Angie tightens her grip on her Butterbeer glass.

 

          She clicks her fingers in Peggy’s view.

 

          ‘Hey, English.’

 

          Peggy blinks, and looks at her dumbly.

 

          ‘Pick ya'own fights. Thought you were done with her anyway,’ Angie mumbles.

 

          ‘I am,’ Peggy confirms, but even as she says this, she turns back to Dottie’s friend. That is when they notice Peggy staring. Dottie cocks a brow in Peggy’s direction, and Peggy isn’t speedy enough to look away when the other girl notices. Lorraine. Peggy’s ex-girlfriend, whom she dumped for reasons Peggy isn’t keen to go into. 

 

          Lorraine cracks a smirk. Peggy casts her eyes to her drink.

 

          She’s oblivious of Angie’s expression. All she hears is her voice. ‘Sure don’t look like it, English.’ Peggy closes her eyes in dismay when she senses Lorraine stand up, a wicked grin at her lips as she approaches their table. Angie tenses immediately, and even turns around to glare at Lorraine when she comes nearer. Lorraine ignores Angie completely, placing her hands onto the table and leaning over to Peggy.

 

          ‘Hello, darling. I’ve _missed_ you.’

 

          Peggy inhales, and forces herself to meet her gaze. ‘Do you? I never would have guessed, but you have always had a knack for giving off the wrong signs.’

 

          ‘That’s rude, Pegs. That hurts me.’

 

          ‘You don’t say.’ Peggy realises Angie is stiff in her seat, fuming, and not really looking at anyone or anything in particular. Aware that her friend is discomforted, Peggy sharpens her voice, ‘What do you want? I really don’t want anything to do with you, so please be on your way, and leave us be.’

 

          ‘Oh, you know I’d _hate_ to interrupt your date.’ Lorraine finally acknowledges Angie, and she smirks wide. ‘She’s a lot like that boy you’re fond of––Steve, right? You seem to like the sensitive ones, Pegs.’ Angie scowls. Peggy hardens her gaze. Lorraine’s smirk broadens. It’s then Peggy realises Dottie is observing the commotion, a menacing glimmer in her eyes. ‘Heard about what happened at Quidditch practice today.’ She sighs dramatically. ‘Maybe I should have stayed in the Team.’

 

          ‘Maybe not,’ Peggy snaps. ‘You will only be an unnecessary distraction.’

 

          ‘Is that what I am to you, Pegs? A distraction? And here I thought you were over me.’

 

          Angie downs half her glass of Butterbeer so fast, Peggy is slightly concerned. 

 

          ‘I look forward to the Match, babe.’ Lorraine grins. ‘I still think you’re sexy in your Quidditch uniform. The green really brings out your eyes.’ Angie scoffs, loud enough for Lorraine to hear. The blonde cocks a brow at her. ‘Wouldn’t you agree, Martinelli? I know you have a thing for her. Careful: she’s a little rough around the edges.’

 

 

_Thwack!_

 

          Peggy gapes in horror as Lorraine stumbles backwards, blood bursting from her lip. Half of the Inn have forgotten their drinks, in awe at what's occurred, and a couple of students even hurry over to make sure that Lorraine is okay. A few others, however, laugh out loud and return to their conversations.

 

          The Italian is stumped, fixed in her position, fist still raised.

 

          Dottie has left her seat, and is suddenly at Angie's side. Her manoeuvre smooth and unnoticeable, it's almost scary. She’s just as gorgeous as Peggy’s ex-girlfriend, if not more so. ‘Careful, Angie, darling. That temper of yours might get you into a spot of trouble.’ Angie says nothing, speechless, and still in shock at what she has just done. Lorraine glares at her fiercely, wiping her bloody face with the back of her hand. Dottie faces Peggy, who’s still gaping at Angie. ‘I look forward to our Match, Captain.’ Peggy is brought back to her senses, meets her gaze, and her entire body goes rigid. ‘Should be a good one.’

 

          ‘I’ll make sure of that,’ Peggy replies. Dottie squints her eyes at her, then smiles crookedly. She moves towards Lorraine, barges past the small fretting crowd, and escorts her friend out of the Inn. Lorraine peers at Peggy behind her shoulder, looking most upset and insulted at Angie’s attack.

 

          Once they’re out of the door, Angie exhales loudly and collapses in her seat. ‘Oh, God.’

 

          ‘Oh, God is _right_.’ Peggy returns to her seat as well, but she’s beaming ear-to-ear. ‘Angie, you are _amazing_.’

 

          Angie can’t quite believe what she’s hearing. She blinks rapidly, and doesn’t know how to respond at first. The adrenaline is still pumping inside her, so much so that it makes her hands shake. She really shouldn’t have punched Lorraine, but she really should have as well. Blimey, that felt too good to be true! Angie can see why Peggy does that so much with the boys who irritate her.

 

          But Peggy is telling the truth. 

 

          Angie _is_ amazing.

 

          And Angie is mesmerised by the Slytherin Captain. How beautiful she appears in the sunlight, her gorgeous, brown hair tied back in a bun, several strands falling to her shoulders. The green hem of her blazer, her Quidditch Captain badge winking at her, and the emerald tie which so many scorn at. Somehow, Peggy’s House colour makes her appear that much more lovely. A complete complex: cunning and manipulative in her work, fiercely independent, and tremendously loyal to a fault.

 

          How can she not have a crush on her best friend?

 

          Angie finally reacts. She feels her cheeks heat up, but hopes that’s because of the Butterbeer, not because of the way Peggy is looking at her.

 

          ‘You’re full of it, English,’ she remarks. ‘Shut up and finish your drink.’

 

 

 

 

 

          After they’ve downed their Butterbeers, Angie drags Peggy through Hogsmeade Village and encourages her to browse around Honeydukes. Peggy is put off by the huge crowd within, but, for Angie, she obliges. While Angie, being as petite as she is, manages to pry between the students in search of her favourite treats, Peggy stays at the back, admiring a a shelf full of different Cauldron Cakes. The designs are getting more ludicrous each year, she thinks to herself, picking up one with humorous, edible eyes bulging out of the surface. Not at all appetising. 

 

          Someone heavy bumps into her. Peggy turns around to face her offender, and she’s stunned when she realises it’s Thompson.

 

          Her Beater gasps out loud.

 

          Peggy grins slyly. ‘Well, well, well. Look who it is.’

 

          It is just Thompson’s luck that his friend Daniel Sousa is present. Leaning on a crutch, Daniel hurries over, and drags Thompson back. ‘Very sorry, Peggy. We didn’t mean to disturb you if you’re doing anything.’

 

          ‘I think I saw your nice friend enter,’ Thompson says, searching for Angie.

 

          ‘You thought correctly,’ Peggy says. ‘I see your nose is fixed. As is your arm.’

 

          ‘Mm. Yeah,’ he mumbles, protectively hiding his nose from her.

 

          ‘I look forward to the Match, Peggy,’ Daniel says sweetly. ‘I might be a Hufflepuff, but I’ve always supported your Team. If only the Hufflepuff Quidditch Team could have a Captain like you, we’d be so much better.’

 

          ‘That is very kind of you, Sousa,’ Peggy replies, smiling at him. ‘I have watched your Team play before; they’re not too bad. Not at all, even. I’d be delighted to assist your Quidditch Team in whatever way possible. If your Captain is content with the idea.’

 

          Thompson laughs. ‘I wouldn’t worry about that, Marge. You know what their Captain is like; too damn fucking proud.’ Daniel looks at him sharply. ‘Eh, sorry, uh… too damn proud, I should probably say. There _are_ ladies present.’

 

          ‘Your Captain is _also_ present,’ Peggy snaps. ‘Anyway, I don’t intend to delay you gentlemen further. Thompson, I expect to see you at practice on Thursday.’

 

          ‘Yeah, sure, sure.’

 

          Daniel waits for Thompson to move aside, before leaning into Peggy. ‘Just so you know, it’d be great if you checked out our Team. I’ll talk to the Captain, but if you can, I’d really like it if you came along.’

 

          Peggy nods. ‘Like I said, I’d be delighted. I’m, of course, currently focussed on our Match in a few weeks, but try and catch me when I’m not busy.’

 

          ‘English!’

 

          ‘Oh,’ Daniel laughs, ‘Guess you’re wanted.’

 

          ‘I guess so,’ Peggy replies.

 

          ‘English!’ On cue, Angie suddenly appears from the crowd, and grabs Peggy by her hand. Angie doesn’t notice Daniel awkwardly lingering, and pulls Peggy into the crowd with her. ‘I found somethin’ you might like,’ she grins, never once letting go of Peggy’s hand. They stop in the centre of the shop, where there is a large cauldron, containing a bubbling purple liquid within. 

 

          Peggy cocks a brow. 

          A deep voice is heard behind her shoulder, catching her by surprise. ‘Definitely your sort of thing.’

 

          Whipping around, Peggy sees Bucky with a relatively disinterested expression. He rounds her, slotting himself in-between she and Angie. Sure enough, Steve appears as well, affectionately wrapping an around Peggy’s shoulders. ‘Do you know what this is, Pegs?’ He queries.

 

          ‘I haven’t the foggiest.’

 

          ‘Poison,’ Bucky teases.

 

          Steve cracks a grin. ‘Ignore him.’

 

          ‘I always do,’ Peggy mumbles.

 

          ‘Drink enough of this and you have photographic memory for a few hours,’ Angie says, pointing towards the potion. ‘This is gonna be a problem during exam period.’ Her eyes brighten. ‘Speakin’ of.’ Steve clearly has the same idea, for both students hurry to fetch themselves a pot to pour their supply of potion in.

 

          Peggy rolls her eyes. ‘As if they’re going to get away with that.’

 

          ‘Knowing those two, they actually might,’ Bucky says, stepping closer to her. He eyes the potion, and curls his lips. ‘What they don’t realise is that it’ll wear off by the time they actually _do_ enter their exams.’ They chuckle at that, but the humour dries fast. Bucky looks over to Peggy. ‘You’d better be careful on your broom these next few weeks, Carter. If you fall and hurt yourself, then Steve––' He stops, and his expression goes blunt. ‘Just be careful, all right?’

 

          Peggy knows what he means. If Peggy _does_ get severely wounded (or even dies) on the Quidditch Pitch, Steve won’t be able to handle the grief. She watches her friend laugh and chatter with Angie while they collect their potion, and hurry to pay. While Steve will struggle with coping with Peggy’s wounds, it’s not necessarily _him_ Peggy is concerned about. Steve is stronger than he appears, more than Bucky sometimes gives him credit for.

 

          When her eyes land on Angie, on her excited face, her thrill for life, Peggy feels her heart beat a little faster.

 

          It definitely won’t _just_ be Steve who’ll care for her safety when the day comes.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, I can't believe I've written a HP AU.  
> But if it involves Peggy, Angie and Steve––I'm pretty down with that.  
> Expect more!


	2. 02

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before starting, I'll highlight the Houses each of the (key) characters are in. They are all noted in this chapter, but here's something to refer back to if it gets puzzling.
> 
>  **Peggy** : Slytherin. Captain/Chaser of the Quidditch Team.  
>  **Angie** : Hufflepuff. Prefect.  
>  **Steve** : Gryffindor. Prefect.  
>  **Dottie** : Ravenclaw. Captain/Beater of the Qudditch Team.  
>  **Bucky** : Gryffindor. Keeper of the Quidditch Team.  
>  **Thompson** : Slytherin. Beater of the Quidditch Team.  
>  **Howard** : Ravenclaw. Head of multiple clubs within Hogwarts especially, and including, the Wizards Chess Club.

          ‘Have you seen the posters?’

 

          ‘What posters?’

 

          ‘Around Hogwarts. The posters about Peggy.’ Beside him, Bucky stiffens, and leans closer to his friend. Steve is genuinely surprised Bucky _hasn’t_ seen the posters; there are so many of them, and they’re incredibly obnoxious. ‘Walk out of The Great Hall, and you’ll find one. How could you have missed them?’

 

          ‘I guess I just didn’t notice. Why? What do they say––?’

 

          Three heavy books _slam_ onto the table, causing both boys to jump in their seat. Fuming and breathing heavily, Angie sits down opposite them and is silent for a short moment while she tries to collect her thoughts. Steve softens his expression. Clearly Angie has seen the posters too. ‘Iowa had better _watch it_ ,’ Angie says through jarred teeth. ‘Did you see the posters?’

 

          ‘Yeah.’

 

          ‘ _What_ posters?’ Bucky can’t believe he’s been _that_ oblivious. Steve and Angie watch him hurry out of The Great Hall, and return in less than thirty seconds, gaping wide. ‘ _Those_ posters, you mean?’ He asks, pointing in the direction he had just ran. ‘You’re saying this is all Dottie’s work?’

 

          ‘Who else?’ Steve and Angie ask simultaneously.

 

          Bucky sits back down, eyebrows furrowed. He looks at his two friends, and lets out a scoff, ‘Really, though? Peggy _Farter_? She couldn’t have thought up a more original name than that?’ 

 

          ‘You know what’s Peggy is like; she cares very little for this sort of thing. I’m sure she’s already seen the posters and made a laughing stock out of them. Dottie can pin up posters about her as much as she wants, but that won’t determine her winning the Match, and everybody knows that the Slytherin Team have a higher chance of winning than Ravenclaw.’

 

          ‘I’m sorry,’ Bucky blinks, as if dazed, ‘I honestly thought we were still in First Year for a second there.’ He rolls his eyes and reaches out to grab a Pumpkin Pasty. ‘We should take down the posters, though.’

 

          ‘I have a hunch that’ll only encourage Dottie to put more of them up.’ Steve chuckles. ‘Let’s ask Pegs before we do anything, all right? Like I said, she probably doesn’t care, and she’s used to Dottie’s schemes at bringing her down. Right, Angie?’ 

 

          This whole time, Angie has been disconcertingly quiet. When Steve finally looks at her properly, he realises Angie isn’t actually listening. She’s propped on one elbow, a book opened before her, and staring off into the distance. Bucky cocks a brow, whereas Steve knows what she’s thinking about.

 

          Steve is a very good reader, particularly of his friends. And Angie isn’t great at hiding her emotions. 

 

          It takes her a moment to realise she’s being spoken to. ‘Wait, what––who, yes I _agree_ ,’ Angie stutters.

 

          ‘Unbelievable,’ Bucky murmurs. 

 

          ‘Angie,’ Steve laughs.

 

          ‘Hn?’

 

          ‘You’re making it snow.’

 

          A heavy shade of scarlet reaches Angie’s cheeks when she looks up to find the ceiling is, indeed, snowing. Two Gryffindor students throw a smile in Angie’s direction, appreciating the rather beautiful talent. It’s not necessarily a talent, though. Angie really does hate it when her emotions cause her to change the weather––it’s even more embarrassing when it occurs inside. 

 

          Bucky and Steve exchange knowing glances. 

 

          Instantly the snow ceases, although the occasional flakes flutters to the table. Angie isn’t angry anymore. Her tempers are tiny just like herself, but they barely last. As soon as Steve started talking about Peggy in high praises, Angie may or may not have got lost in her own thoughts. It is true that Peggy won’t care about the posters. In fact, she _has_ seen them this morning, undoubtedly, and hasn’t caused a scene about them or made the effort to remove them.

 

          Because that’s just who Peggy is.

 

          She is confident in herself. She knows her capabilities, and she’s aware of her Team’s capabilities as well. The Ravenclaws and their supporters are more than welcome to stick up posters blaring out _Peggy Farter_ in every corner, but it will have no effect on Peggy whatsoever. More to the point, Peggy simply has zero patience for childish behaviour, and is aware that if she responds, she’ll only be throwing more wood into the fire. Peggy is a proud (sometimes irritatingly so) and conscientious girl. The only people who’ll get effected by this are her two closest friends.

 

          God damn it.

 

          Why does Peggy have to be so gorgeous and to _also_ have a heart of gold?

 

          It’s not _fair_.

 

          ‘Angie?’

 

          ‘Yeah?’

 

          Bucky sighs heavily. ‘It’s snowing again.’

 

 

 

 

 

          Yet as the day progresses, the more posters Angie sees, and now even her Hufflepuff friends have started giggling at them. There’s nothing all that impressive about the posters. They’re basically of Peggy Carter shooting off on her broomstick, grotesque coloured smoke trailing after her. Anybody with an imagination can guess what the smoke is supposed to signify. 

 

          And then there’s the name. Jumping out each time the Peggy in the photograph flies off.

 

_Peggy Farter._

 

          Angie rolls her eyes so hard, she’s surprised she doesn’t topple back entirely.

 

          The temptation to walk over to Dottie Underwood and treat her to what Angie gave Peggy’s ex is overwhelming. She turns her head when she spots a Gryffindor and his Ravenclaw girlfriend pointing at the photograph, looking at each other and bursting into fits of laughter. ‘Peggy **Farter**!’ A student yells at the far end of the hallway. ‘Peggy Fart Fart Farter!’

 

          Growling loudly, Angie rips off the poster and shreds it apart. The Gryffindor and Ravenclaw wisely remove themselves from the scene. Angela Martinelli is mad, and nobody _dares_ confront Angela Martinelli when she is mad. Those who underestimate Hufflepuffs truly realise their mistake in the worst manner possible. Angie shares no sympathy for them, and she definitely won’t sympathise with Dottie Underwood when she breaks her jaw.

 

          She sees the student who continues to yell out Peggy’s new nickname.

 

          The boy is surrounded by his Ravenclaw friends, except one of them is a Hufflepuff as well. The group of boys stop chattering and laughing when they spot Angie coming their way. Chortling, the lead boy steps down from where he sits and blocks her path. ‘You seen the flags yet, Martinelli? You should be able to spot them during the big Match. If you want, I can give you one for free, then everybody will know how much your best friend _stinks_.’

 

          If looks could kill.

 

          All she’s conscious of is his laughter, the way he turns to his friends to make sure they’re laughing as well. And they’re all a bunch of hyenas, hysterical in his pathetic and dim-witted joke. She feels her blood _boiling_ , and her entire body feels as if it has burst into flames. Angie’s head is about to burst from the amount of rage coursing through her, and, before anybody realises what is going on, her wand is in her hand and she’s shoving it in his now petrified face.

 

          ‘My older brother taught me this fancy spell. You might like it. Thought a nice fluffy tail would go well with that ugly mouth a’yours.’ She jabs her wand into his cheek, and he splutters out gibberish. His friends stare, mouths open. ‘Whatd’ya say? Couldn’t quite hear ya. Speak up.’

 

          ‘Hey, Muggle Born, bugger off!’ A student yells out behind her.

 

          Angie ignores him at first.

 

          ‘Shouldn’t be around here; you reek the place with your _filthy_ blood.’

 

          It’s not really the insults which hurt Angie. She’s already wounded by the posters of Peggy, but upon hearing the continuous taunts about her family, it’s as if the knife has been twisted, dug deeper inside her. Angie retreats her wand, suddenly aware that she has been crowded. The Ravenclaw she nearly attacked steps back wisely, but doesn’t move away. 

 

          ‘Atta girl. Doing what you’re told.’ Angie turns to the boy. He’s a freckled, young adolescent, her age possibly. She would consider him good- looking if he wasn’t so _awful_. ‘Now, do what I say next and then we can all get along: get off these grounds and go to a Muggle school, where you belong.’

 

          ‘There ain’t nothing wrong with Muggle schools!’

 

          In trying to make things better, Angie has only made things worse.

 

          ‘There ain’t, ain’t there?’ He mocks her accent, which is apparently _hilarious_ to everybody present. ‘I hear you’re the new favourite in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Just because you understand the way spells work faster than most of us, don’t think that makes you any less of a Muggle than you actually are. You know what? If I were in charge of the school, I’d have you kicked out immediately.’

 

          ‘And the world sighs a breath of relief that you _aren’t_.’

 

          They hear Peggy Carter before they see her. The boy accusing Angie screams out suddenly when his trousers tighten around his crotch, so tight even he collapses to the ground and starts wailing. Angie widens her eyes when his friend is in for a nasty shock: his jumper is magically thrust up, tightens around his neck and forehead, blinding his view. Desperately, he tries to pull it off him, but Peggy flicks her wand, causing the jumper to squeeze harder.

 

          Now she turns to the Ravenclaw who had first insulted Angie. He yelps in horror, and three of his friends manage to run away. Peggy steps over, calm and her wand hand steady. ‘I saw the posters,’ she says. ‘I must say, I’m impressed with the detail, but if farting honestly made flying that much easier, I would have a ball.’ She watches him splutter. She grins.

 

          After five seconds, the Ravenclaw exclaims and dashes out of sight, a fluffy tail attached to his buttocks. His friends follow after him, and never once look back. The remaining students mind their own business, leaving the two friends alone. Peggy sighs in satisfaction and returns her wand. ‘I’m most grateful you taught me that spell, Angie. It _certainly_ comes in handy.’

 

          ‘Y’know,’ Angie starts, just barely able to collect herself, ‘I could’ve handled that myself, English.’

 

          ‘Of _course_ you could have. However, I just couldn’t sit back and let him talk to you in that manner.’

 

          What is Angie? Her damsel in distress?

 

          Or distressing damsel?

 

          She joins her Slytherin friend, and they proceed down the hallway together. Angie continues to insist that she could have taken on all of those students (and she would have won, damn it). But, Peggy rushing in to save her was––well, very cute. And “cute” isn’t really the word to describe a Slytherin. Perhaps Peggy will simply have to be the exception, because her cuteness has become so overbearing recently. 

 

          That little escapade is going to have its repercussions.

 

          And, sure enough, it does.

 

          Both Angie and Peggy are sitting in Hogwarts grounds, beneath a tree, finishing their Potions homework when a Professor comes walking over to their spot. Angie immediately stands up, whereas Peggy remains seated, not at all fazed that said Professor doesn’t look happy in the slightest.

 

          ‘Thought I might find you two together,’ he says, glancing between the Hufflepuff and Slytherin. ‘Do you think it’s funny to turn your fellow peers into animals, Miss Carter?’ Peggy snorts behind her book. Angie purses her lips. ‘And you, Miss Martinelli? Threatening your peers with your wand? What with you being a Hufflepuff Prefect, I’d expect better from you.’

 

          ‘Yes, Professor,’ Angie mumbles. ‘In my defence, though––’

 

          ‘You _have_ no defence, Martinelli,’ he snaps. Angie just decides to accept that. She can’t be bothered to argue. ‘As Captain of your Quidditch Team, would you like to fill me in on _why_ you’re acting like a––like a––’ He struggles to find the word. Peggy waits patiently. ‘––a _child_?’

 

          Oh. Peggy was expecting much worse than that. She closes her book and stands next to Angie, who isn’t even listening anymore. ‘With all due respect, Professor, they _were_ insulting my friend. If I’m honest, I felt I was very disciplined with them.’ She nearly adds “they deserved worse”, but the moment she sees her Professor’s glare, she reconsiders. 

 

          ‘Fifteen points from Slytherin and Hufflepuff. You both also have Detention.’

 

          ‘Joy,’ Angie breathes.

 

          ‘What was that?’

 

          ‘Hm? Oh, nothin’, Professor.’

 

          ‘Make that twenty from Hufflepuff.’

 

          Angie grimaces. Peggy’s left eye twitches. 

 

          ‘Unless you two ladies have nothing better to do, than I suggest you follow me and get your Detention over and done with. You, of all people, Miss Carter, need to use your free time towards something more productive. The way you’ve been flouncing around the school, one would think you didn’t care about your Quidditch Match.’

 

          ‘I’m very sorry you feel that way, Professor.’

 

          ‘Don’t apologise to me. Apologise to the students _you_ attacked.’

 

          ‘I’ll note that, Professor.’

 

          Angie laughs at her tone. She shuts up immediately when the Professor glances at her. He squints his eye at the two of them. ‘Very well,’ he says slowly. ‘Come along, then. Bring your books with you, please.’

 

          Detention is never a thrilling period in one’s life, especially at Hogwarts. Angie expects their Detention to involve some sort of cleaning, and, exactly as she predicts, she and Peggy have been told to clean the walls near the Dungeons. Fun, fun, fun. Peggy takes the ladder, scrubbing the tiny cracks in the brick, while casting a spell on two other sponges to deal with the harder work closer to the ceiling.

 

          Angie, however, has been given the wonderful job of cleaning the floor. She originally cast a spell on her mop in order for it to clean by itself, but her mop has clearly dealt with naughty students before. As punishment for her laziness, the mop, rather ungracefully, gives her a wet smack across the face. Okay. Well, Angie isn’t going to cheat her way out of Detention ever again.

 

          Still, Detention with Peggy isn’t so bad.

 

          Leaning into her mop, Angie lets out an obnoxiously loud sigh. ‘And yet, that Dottie Underwood doesn’t get a Detention for the posters she made a’you.’ Peggy doesn’t look at her. She continues scrubbing the walls, but Angie notices the hint of a smile reaching Peggy’s lips. ‘You wanna get her back, Pegs? I can think of a _few_ names I’d like to give her.’

 

          ‘I do love it when you try and act vengeful,’ Peggy chuckles. ‘I shan’t worry about Dottie. Trust me, I _intend_ to get my own back.’

 

          ‘How?’

 

          ‘By winning the Quidditch Match, of course.’ Peggy lowers her scrubbing hand, and finally turns to Angie from the top of her ladder. ‘You should have more faith in me, Angie. I can handle this.’

 

          ‘I _know_ you can. That doesn’t mean you should refuse help, though,’ Angie trails off after that, slapping her mop back down to the floor and scrubbing away half-heartedly. She’s unaware of Peggy still watching her, fiddling with the sponge in her hands. It’s not unusual of Peggy to refuse Angie’s––or anybody else’s––help. In fact, _especially_ Angie’s. It’s as if the closer Peggy gets to a person, the more she likes to distance herself from them. That sort of behaviour nearly ended their friendship once.

 

          Peggy realises she’s been staring at her friend for longer than should be considered normal, and returns to her scrubbing. The next half hour is silent, but not an unpleasant one. Through her seven years of getting to know Peggy, Angie has come to understand that not every quiet break with Peggy has to be filled with chatter. There are even times when they spend several hours just sitting together, reading, or writing essays, or whatever else without saying a word.

 

          It’s nice. Really nice.

 

          Admittedly, Angie knows she won’t ever have that sort of comfort with anybody else in her life. 

 

          She’s thinking about Peggy’s previous intervention with the students who were bullying her. She thinks about how controlled Peggy was when she pointed her wand at that _prick_ who called Angie dirty-blooded, how pleased she was to have strolled in at the right time. Peggy has a bit of an irritating trait at being the hero sometimes, quite like Steve. The amount of times Steve has rushed into a scene when somebody is being threatened or spoken to rudely.

 

          Except, poor Steve––being the fragile feather he is––only ends up getting his nose bashed in every time.

 

          That never stops him, though.

 

          Ever.

 

          Maybe that’s why Peggy and Steve are so fond of each other. Maybe that’s why Peggy always goes to Steve when she needs somebody to lean on, and Steve the same with Peggy. Angie has entertained the idea that Steve and Peggy are possibly dating in secret, but surely her two closest friends would have told her by now? She peers at Peggy behind her shoulder.

 

          Heck.

 

          Who _wouldn’t_ fancy this beautiful, smart and _dumb_   _nerd_?

 

          ‘Pegs,’ she says, ‘If you were actually a Muggle, what would you wanna be? Job-wise, I mean.’

 

          ‘That’s a good question.’

 

          ‘Thanks very much.’

 

          ‘Let me see.’ Peggy slides her sponge across the wall, furrowing her brows. One would think Angie had asked her a life or death question. Angie almost regrets in asking, Peggy is taking so long to think about it.

 

          ‘If it’s gonna hurt you to make up your mind, then don’t bother.’

 

          ‘I’m _thinking_.’ Angie grins. Peggy finally answers. ‘I see myself joining the military. Or, I’d try and become a secret agent. I’ve always wanted to do that, even before I received my Hogwarts letter.’ Angie’s grin has weakened, but only out of adoration for the Slytherin. 

 

          ‘A spy, huh?’

 

          ‘ _Agent_ ,’ Peggy corrects. ‘There is a difference.’

 

          ‘Sure there is, English.’ Angie returns to her mopping. ‘Agent Carter,’ she mocks quietly.

 

          ‘And you, my dear?’

 

          ‘What I’ve always done in my free time: I’d be an actress.’ Angie neglects her mop once again, leaning against it, and gazing off into space. ‘I can dance, sing and act––I’d be great. Y’know what? Stuff education. I belong on Broadway.’ Peggy smirks. ‘Or, at least I would if I got an audition.’ She lowers her gaze. Peggy stops scrubbing, and watches her back. ‘That’d be nice, though.’

 

          ‘You’re a brilliant actress, Angie,’ Peggy replies. ‘I loved watching you perform last Christmas. I know it wasn’t a big part, but you honestly shone through. Your time will come, darling; just you wait.’

 

          Angie bashfully swings her mop in her hand, and turns to Peggy with a raised brow. ‘Sometimes, English, you really know the right things to say.’ They hold each other’s gaze, and while Angie is conscious of her mop getting impatient with the slow work (it has now started to tug out of her hand), Angie struggles to pry her eyes off the Slytherin Captain. Peggy leans forward in her ladder, a curious smile at her lips, and is about to speak when both Witches hear a _crash_.

 

          Nearby a lantern has been chucked to the ground, glass sprayed everywhere.

 

          ‘Peeves,’ Angie mutters.

 

          ‘Oh, no! Oh, no! Oh, no!’ Peeves exclaims, whipping past Peggy and deliberately knocking her ladder slightly off balance. ‘Did I ruin the little girlies’ moment? Oh, no!’ He laughs, and snatches one of Peggy’s independent sponges, before chucking it directly at Angie.

 

          ‘What the––Hey!’ Angie glares at him as he zooms past.

 

          The poltergeist tuts loudly, ‘Carter and Martinelli sitting in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N-G! Wait ‘till I tell your favourite Professors––they won’t be happy, no, no, not happy at all!’ Peggy has climbed down the ladder now, and tries to be nearer to Angie, but Peeves jumps out in front of her. ‘Good luck on your big, big Match, Agent Farter!’

 

          ‘Are you serious?’ Peggy’s says, blunt.

 

          ‘Dead, dead, _dead_ serious!’

 

          Angie grows impatient and throws the sponge at him. As both Peggy and Peeves expect, it just goes straight through him. Peeves cackles. Peggy looks at Angie. ‘I don’t know what you intended to achieve from that.’

 

          ‘I don’t really know myself.’ Angie grabs her mop and jabs it in Peeves’ direction. ‘Go away! Go get on somebody else’s nerves, ya creep!’

 

          ‘Agent, Agent, Agent Farter! Your Quidditch Game is only gonna get harder! Agent, Agent, Agent Farter! That’s what they’re calling Captain Peggy Carter!’

 

          ‘Will you _bugger off_?’ Peggy snaps. And, somehow, this does the trick. Satisfied with his mischief, Peeves bursts into fits of laughter and disappears out of sight. Not before tugging Peggy’s ladder off the wall and letting it _clatter_ to the ground. Peggy huffs, and folds her arms. ‘He’s a damned nuisance!’

 

          They clear away Peeve’s smashed lantern, and while Angie sweeps up the glass, Peggy stands over her, tugging at her own sleeve. Angie senses something is wrong, and looks at the other student. ‘You okay, honey?’

 

          ‘Mm.’ Peggy inhales. ‘Just––would you mind accompanying me to Quidditch practice tomorrow? I admit, I––I’m quite nervous.’

 

          Standing, Angie softens her expression and squeezes Peggy’s arm. ‘What for? You’ve never been nervous for _practice_.’

 

          ‘I don’t know what’s come over me. I think I simply require your company, that’s all. I hope it’s not too much to ask?’

 

          Angie smiles such a pretty smile Peggy feels her heart flutter wildly in her chest.

 

          ‘You needn’t ask, English. I’ll watch your back.’

 

 

 

 

 

          Peggy isn’t sure why she’s tense for practice. Like Angie said, she never has been. Quidditch practice is, undoubtedly, her favourite time of the week. That and, of course, spending quality time with Steve and Angie. Maybe it’s what Peeves said, his taunts and the exhaustive usage of her insulting new nickname. Or, maybe it _is_ actually the posters. Maybe Dottie Underwood has finally crawled beneath her skin, and damaged her self esteem.

 

          Or is Peggy just _nervous_ , like every other Quidditch Captain would be? Is she worried that Thompson will not play his best on the big day? Is she worried her young Seeker will topple off his broom, which will result in _her_ receiving the rough end of the stick? Is she worried that she, herself, will screw up during the game, therefore letting down her entire Team?

 

          Angie waits for Peggy outside the Slytherin Common Room. She has a book under her arm to entertain her during the Match, although Angie has a feeling she won’t be needing it. She enjoys watching Peggy and her Teammates play, plus knowing that her friend is worried only convinces Angie further that she should watch. For Peggy, at least. Just give her the support she needs.

 

          The Quidditch Pitch looks almost intimidating in the morning sunlight, it’s high hoops towering the students who crowd around. Peggy has arrived early, as a Captain should, and has the pleasure of meeting the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain when she appears. The Gryffindor Team have just finished their practice session. 

 

          For the first time in several decades, the Slytherin and Gryffindor Captains have got on reasonably well, although their Matches are certainly heated. 

 

          ‘I’ll be rooting for you,’ the Gryffindor Captain says. 

 

          ‘So you should,’ Peggy teases. Her eyes land on Bucky, who has also approached, broomstick in hand. He became Keeper of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team the day Peggy became Chaser. It’s one thing they’ve bonded over. ‘Good morning,’ she greets him, to which he nods his head with a smile.

 

          ‘Hey.’ He looks over at Angie. ‘Hey, Angie.’ He turns to Peggy. ‘Steve was keen to watch you today––he’s just gone back into the Castle to fetch something, but should be back soon.’

 

          ‘That’s okay. At least Angie will have somebody to talk to.’ Bucky moves aside to talk to his Captain. Peggy encourages Angie to follow her as they approach the chest containing the Quaffle, Snitch and two Bludgers. ‘Thank you for coming along, Angie. I really appreciate it.’

 

          ‘Don’t give it another thought,’ Angie insists. ‘Y’know you can talk to me––about anythin’.’

 

          Peggy smiles. ‘I know.’

 

          She rests her broomstick near the chest, and spots several of her Teammates entering the Pitch. Angie notices Thompson, relieved to find that he is sober this time. She focusses her attention on Peggy. ‘Forget about those stupid posters, English––you’re worth more than Iowa knows.’

 

          ‘You’re very sweet, dear. Fear not: it isn’t the posters I’m concerned about.’

 

          ‘Then what?’ Angie pleads.

 

          ‘I wish I could give you a clear answer.’ Peggy stiffens. ‘Oh, please no.’ Angie frowns and follows her line of gaze. Four Ravenclaw girls have also appeared, as well as two Slytherins, one of them being Lorraine. Angie can _hear_ her stomach growling, like a timid monster, but more than ready to pounce and _bite_. ‘Well, I suppose she is _free_ to watch, not that it’ll be interesting.’

 

          ‘Do you want me to kill her?’

 

          Peggy laughs shortly. ‘Maybe later.’ She takes Angie’s hand, squeezes it once, and walks over to her waiting Teammates. Angie watches Peggy’s retreating back. She feels tempted to run over to her friend, and hug her, just hold her, and tell her everything is going to go perfectly okay. Because she is Peggy Carter, and Peggy Carter is the best Quidditch player in the entire school.

 

          While Peggy converses with her Teammates, her First Year Seeker at the front of the pack, eyes constantly on his Captain, Angie walks to sit on the sidelines. She cracks open her book, although she has no intention of reading it. Angie props herself on one elbow, watching Peggy talk. She stands perfectly, back straight, shoulders squared, as if ready for war. Her face is serious, concentrated, and Peggy looks devilishly gorgeous in her emerald and silver robes.

 

          Peggy looks the part. She looks like the Captain, the boss, and her Teammates engorge every word she says. They’re pumped and ready. Once she’s finished talking to them, going over her plans for today, what needs to be improved on and so forth, she turns away to collect her broomstick. The second Slytherin Chaser follows after Peggy, her long, black hair flowing behind her.

 

          ‘Hey, Ange.’

 

          ‘Steve!’ Angie beams wide as Steve sits beside her, his inhaler in hand. ‘Are you all right?’

 

          ‘Yeah, yeah. I just lost my breath a little while watching Bucky play.’

 

          Angie cocks a brow, but doesn’t delve further. Both watch Peggy kick open the chest containing the Quidditch balls. She chucks one of the clubs in Thompson’s direction, who catches it. Although Angie enjoys talking (sometimes to an embarrassing amount), whenever Peggy steps onto the Quidditch Pitch, she’s as quiet as a mouse. The moment Peggy picks up her broomstick, Angie is tense all over, and she can feel her heart pound in her mouth.

 

          The Slytherin Captain looks over at Steve and Angie. Steve waves enthusiastically, to which Peggy offers a small smile in return. Her eyes linger on Angie momentarily, and Angie feels her breath catch.

 

          Five. Four. Three. Two––

 

          ––The Bludgers burst out of their straps, and charge into the skies––

 

          One.

 

          And the game is on. Peggy is agile, so fast on her broomstick, she’s nothing but a blur of green in the air. Angie’s eyes are wide as she tries to follow her best friend, but it’s almost impossible. The Quaffle is passed from Peggy, to the other Chaser, to the third Chaser, and it keeps going––a Bludger appears out of nowhere, but Thompson beats it away.

 

          The Seeker, tiny compared to his Teammates, searches frantically for his Snitch. Meanwhile, the Slytherin Keeper guards the hoops in the hopes of blocking the Chasers from scoring. The black-haired Chaser has possession of the Quaffle, and she swerves gracefully out of the way of a Bludger, before throwing the Quaffle over to Peggy, who’s perched so delicately on her broomstick, it’s remarkable how she can remain balanced at such high  speed.

 

          Peggy is breathtaking when she flies.

 

          She didn’t earn her reputation for no reason.

 

          For one, Peggy is, easily, the fastest Slytherin player next to her Seeker. But, more than that, her aim is perfect.

 

          She scores! Her Keeper growls in disappointment for letting himself down. The black-haired Chaser exclaims in victory, and pats Peggy’s shoulder as she flies past. Peggy and her immediately get back to the game. The Slytherin Seeker still hasn’t found his Snitch, and he’s slightly distracted by the Chasers. They’re so fast, so powerful and so confident; their green cloaks billow in the breeze as they shoot off in different directions, eyes on their Quaffle as its passed to each Chaser.

 

          They decide to make things a little more tricky. The Chasers separate, and try and throw in goals individually; a competition between all three of them.

 

          Then her Seeker spots the Snitch. Steve’s attention spikes.

 

          The First Year equally matches Peggy’s speed, but due to lack of experience, he is a little less graceful. Peggy, aware of everything that is happening on the Pitch, notices her Seeker is in pursuit. It’s her job to make sure he does his job correctly. Her two Chasers acknowledge her various duties, and avoid including her in the game most of the time. Peggy descends slightly. Angie frowns, a little suspicious, because Peggy isn’t actually looking at her Seeker.

 

          She’s looking at one of the Bludgers.

 

          Angie sees the issue.

 

          The Bludger has gone _mad_. The ball _throws_ itself across the Pitch at a rapid speed, with no clear motive. Bludgers don’t act this way––they always home in on multiple targets, sometimes only to distract them, and their turns are not that speedy. Peggy widens her eyes and swerves aside when the Bludger darts at her.

 

          Always, a Bludger focusses on its next target. Never the same one.

 

          This Bludger, however, is particularly interested in Peggy. The Captain has no time to register what’s happening, because the Bludger is throwing itself at her again, vicious and angry. One of the Chasers has seen, and points at the Bludger, ‘Thompson!’ She yells out. The Beater hears his name, realises Peggy is being _chased_ by an actual _Bludger_ , and shoots off in that direction, club raised.

 

          A couple of observing students gasp out in horror as the Bludger whacks itself onto one of the hoops, quickly bouncing off and reaching after Peggy. It becomes a chase. Peggy looks behind her, confused and mortified that this fierce Bludger is still after her. Now, the entire Team have stopped playing, and the other Beater tries to catch up with Peggy and her Bludger.

 

          ‘That’s bewitched!’ A student yells.

 

          ‘Someone’s tampered with the Bludger!’ Another student.

 

          ‘Get Professor McGonagall! Oh, my God, it’s gonna kill Carter!’

 

          Angie is on her feet, hand over her mouth. Steve sits, frozen in his place, terrified at what he’s seeing. From where they are, it’s impossible to tell what is happening, what Peggy looks like, if she’s scared, if this is all planned, but they both know something is very, very wrong. 

 

          The Italian slowly turns her head to the two Slytherin girls.

 

          ‘Her,’ she growls, glaring straight at Lorraine, whose eyes are transfixed on Peggy. 

 

          ‘Ang––Angie, where’re you going?’ Steve stutters.

 

          ‘You!’ Angie storms over to her, grabs Lorraine by the scruff of her collar, and slams her against the wall. The Ravenclaws exclaim at Angie, whereas Lorraine widens her eyes at the approach. She doesn’t fight Angie off. ‘You’d better get that Bludger away from Peggy _right now_ , or I’ll give you another broken nose, and this time it won’t be fixable!’

 

          ‘Get _off_ me!’ Lorraine yells, ‘You stupid girl! I’ve got nothing to do with it––I don’t know what’s happening!’

 

          ‘What?’

 

          ‘That Bludger has got nothing to do with me!’

 

          By now, Steve has reached Angie, slightly out of breath. He places a hand on her shoulder. ‘Angie, stop this! It’s not her.’ Angie can’t hear him. She stares at Lorraine, horrified, and she can feel her heart race so fast in her chest, she’s scared it may burst. Angie dares herself to look up where Peggy is still fleeing speedily away from the raging Bludger.

 

          ‘Carter! Marge! Fly towards me!’

 

          Peggy hears her Beater, but she can’t change direction just yet, otherwise the Bludger will whack itself into her. She holds her breath, turns her head to see how fast the Bludger is approaching her. Jesus Christ. Oh, Jesus! What the _Hell_ is wrong with this thing? Peggy flies forwards, and then, suddenly, _drops_. The audience below gasp at the immediate and well-performed descent of her broomstick. It only momentarily catches the Bludger off guard.

 

          She pulls back, watching the Bludger whizz past her, only to swerve at her, even more furious than before.

 

          It’s her Seeker who foolishly grabs the club out of Thompson’s hand and tries to beat the Bludger.

 

          But he is not a Beater; he is a Seeker.

 

          He’s much too slow. Peggy widens her eyes when the small boy is knocked off his broomstick, slamming into the ground. One of her Chasers instantly jumps off her broom once she’s inches from the surface, and rushes over to him. Peggy has no time to make sure he’s all right––the Bludger homes in on her again.

 

          Thompson curses loudly, snatches his club from the ground, and flies into the air. Peggy’s other Beater, Glibert, is inches away from her, club raised, but Peggy has to change direction, and Gilbert is unable to whack the Bludger away. She’s too fast for him to keep up, so it’s Thompson’s turn to try. 

 

          But it’s hopeless.

 

          Peggy sees the blood dripping from her Seeker’s crown.

 

          What happens next is enough to traumatise every student witnessing.

 

          The Bludger charges into Peggy’s back. She jostles forwards, choking on her breath, her spine _crushing_ from the impact. Her broomstick topples, the Bludger smashes the tip, splinters spraying everywhere, and her broomstick spirals completely out of control. Peggy is barely conscious, and doesn’t see the Bludger when it smacks into her face.

 

          Blood explodes from her mouth and nose. 

 

          Angie screams.

 

          Peggy’s broomstick turns upside-down, part of it catching Peggy’s boot. The Captain dangles off, and hits the ground. But the Bludger is still unsatisfied. It crashes into Peggy’s dismantled broomstick, lifting Peggy off the ground again. Her head smacks onto the hard earth, her back burning against the heated surface, and, finally, her broomstick falls uselessly to the side, taking Peggy’s boot with it.

 

          Absolutely livid, Thompson hits the Bludger so hard with his club, it shoots off for miles. 

 

          Peggy lays motionless, blood pooling from her head.

 

          It’s Angie who moves first from the gaping crowd. Her vision blurs as she rushes towards Peggy’s body, and she ignores the warning shout from Thompson when she enters the Pitch, collapses to her knees, and tugs at Peggy’s cloak, pulling the limp girl closer. Blood drips from Peggy’s hair, and soon Angie’s hands are covered in the ugly liquid. 

 

          She tries to breathe, tries, to breathe, oh, God, she can’t breathe, she can’t breathe, Peggy, Peggy, Peggy, oh my God, Peggy, her Peggy––

 

          ‘Is she okay?’ The young Seeker has rushed over, despite suffering a very serious injury. ‘Is she alive?’

 

          Angie doesn’t know how to answer that. She rests Peggy’s head on her lap, touches her face––she doesn’t know what to do. The Ravenclaws and Slytherins have hurried over, and Lorraine is about to kneel down and inspect the girl in Angie’s lap, but Steve pushes her aside. He places a hand on Angie’s arm, and leans into Peggy, tenderly stroking her cheek, and trying to think of a way to help her regain consciousness.

 

          ‘Maybe if we shock her or––' He stops when he realises Angie is crying, but the Hufflepuff doesn’t want to be comforted. She shakes off his arm when he tries to embrace her.

 

          Angie whips her head around at the Ravenclaws, eyes pouring with venom. ‘What’re you doin’ just standing there?! Get help! _Go_!’

 

          Three Ravenclaws hurry off in pursuit of medical help. 

 

          ‘Ah, shit,’ Thompson cries. ‘It’s coming back!’

 

          Angie widens her eyes, terrified to see the Bludger returning at full speed. Steve protectively wraps his arms around Peggy and Angie, but it’s unnecessary. A spell is cast, and the Bludger explodes into ribbons. ‘For goodness’ _sake_!’ All the students recognise that voice, and move away at once as Professor McGonagall enters the Pitch, a couple of students following behind. Steve spots another Professor at the far end. ‘Right, all of you! Away! Off you go, go away!’

 

          Obediently all of the students flee the scene. The Slytherin Team remain put, and when Steve looks up at Thompson, he’s certain Thompson is about to cry. And, frankly, Steve feels the exact same way. It is Angie, though, who sheds tears, quietly and viciously. She furiously wipes her wet face when McGonagall comes into view, kneeling at Peggy’s limp body.

 

          ‘We need to send her to the Hospital Wing immediately. No use crying now, is there? Come along. Madam Pomfrey should meet us halfway. Thompson, stop standing around like a buffoon, and make yourself useful.’

 

          ‘Angie,’ Steve tugs at Angie’s sleeve. ‘Angie, we have to move her.’

 

          The Hufflepuff is shaking when she tries to stand. Steve holds her close to his body, and tightens his grip when Angie starts to tremble even more viciously. Angie clings to his cloak as Thompson, Gilbert and the Slytherin Keeper help McGonagall in manoeuvring Peggy away. Out of thin air, McGonagall creates a comfortable stretcher for Peggy to lie on. 

 

          Still, Peggy doesn’t awaken. 

 

          The Stretcher wheels away beside McGonagall and Thompson, and, as promised, Madam Pomfrey does show, and all four of them disappear out  of sight. The last Chaser escorts their Seeker to the Hospital Wing as well, and it’s just Angie and Steve left on the Quidditch Pitch.

 

          ‘Who––' Angie wraps her arms around herself, ‘Who did that? _Who_ did that? Who made the Bludger act that way?’

 

          Steve can’t handle hearing Angie sound like this; her voice tight and constricted as she tries so desperately not to burst into tears. He fears if he doesn’t hold her securely enough, Angie will fall apart, so he just holds her and, really, it’s all he can do as he tries to hold back tears himself.

 

          But Angie can’t stand around. She can’t do that.

 

          She wiggles out of Steve’s grip, and turns to him with wide, teary eyes. ‘I gotta go and be with her––I have to be with her. I said I’d stay with her. I can’t leave her.’ 

 

          Steve has no objections when Angie turns on her heel, and dashes out of the Quidditch Pitch. He doesn’t hesitate in following her, his mind constantly going over the horrifying trauma Peggy has just endured. As they near Hogwarts main entrance, he grabs Angie’s hand, and allows her to escort him all the way up to the Hospital Wing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My poor, baby Pegasus!  
> 
> 
> I don't know WHY I keep doing this to her. I love her so much, and yet I keep beating her up? Tough love, that. I had this whole Bludger vs. Peggy scene in my head the moment I thought up this AU, so I was excited to write it. Naturally, there is a slight nod here towards _The Chambers of Secrets_ , but there ain't no Basilisks and Heirs of Slytherin in this story.  
> 
> 
> Who tampered the bludger? Could it have possibly been Miss Underwood? WHO KNOWS. I KNOW. Ha. I shall update as soon as I can. I intend for these chapters to be quite chunky (therefore making the story itself quite minimal). I shall also continue focussing on _In Bloom_ , as I appreciate I did leave the latest chapter at a pretty rude cliffhanger.  
>  Yet again.  
> 
> 
> Thank you dearly for reading! You are all lovely, tasty muffins and I want to give you all a big hug.


	3. 03

          A vase of white lilies are beside her bed. Steve can’t stop looking at them. Whoever gifted the flowers has neglected to leave a note; an anonymous present. A secret admirer, perhaps? Or a sympathetic student? Possibly a friend Steve doesn’t know about? They are _very_ pretty flowers, and clearly a spell has been cast on them, because as the week drags on, the flowers do not wilt, nor do they require any water in order to survive.

 

          He doesn’t ask Angie if they’re from her. In fact, he has his answer when she points out the flowers as well, querying whether Steve had bought them. He hadn’t. Neither had Bucky, or any of the Slytherin Quidditch Team members. The flowers remain amystery, but they aren’t removed from Peggy’s bedside. They are quite a refreshing contrast to the bleakness that is the Hospital Wing.

 

          The events that occurred (regarding Quidditch Practice and the Bludger) continue to be the hottest gossip around Hogwarts. Some students have even started accusing each other for the Bludger’s behaviour, whereas others have made sick jokes about it. Particularly towards Steve and Angie––the latter especially. Not only has there been gossip about the Bludger, but also Angie’s relationship with the Slytherin Captain, and, frankly, it isn’t flattering.

 

          Yes: it was witnessed that Angie cried when Peggy was sent to the Hospital Wing, but–– ‘I _am_ her best friend, what d’they expect me to do? Laugh about it?!’ Some students even had the audacity to pat Steve sympathetically on the shoulder and say, ‘Women: they’re always _full_ of surprises, aren’t they? Tough break.’ What angered Steve wasn’t the taunts sent his way, but the fact so many students refused to get off Angie’s _back_. 

 

          Essay writing in The Great Hall is always a silent procedure. Seventh Years require as much time as possible to work, and, every now and again, The Great Hall is booked in their favour so they can sit down and just write. However, not all Seventh Years are focussed. 

 

          Angie is partway through finishing a sentence when a scrunched up ball of paper is thrown at her. She looks up. Two Ravenclaw girls are watching her, chortling. The Hufflepuff sitting beside Angie has stopped working, eyeing the ball of paper. He straightens when Angie rolls her eyes, and picks it up, folding it open. Both Hufflepuffs stare at the illustration, moving across the sheet of paper.

 

          What stares back at Angie is a huge love heart, with smaller hearts flowing around it enthusiastically. In the centre of the love heart is Peggy Carter flying on her broomstick. A Bludger slams into her face every five seconds, which results in love hearts spraying everywhere. Every time the picture refreshes, Angie can feel her anger starting to spike. At one point the huge love heart folds in on itself, and then reopens, to which two names come jumping out:

 

**Angie <3 Peggy**

 

          The love heart refreshes, closing and reopening, and Peggy Carter is getting hit with Bludgers again. 

 

          Scowling, Angie scrunches up the sheet of paper. The two Ravenclaw girls giggle a little louder, whereas the Hufflepuff sitting beside Angie watches in silence as she produces a sheet of paper herself. The procedure is speedy. Angie manages to draw out a very rude phrase which students shouldn’t be passing on to one another. She folds the sheet of paper neatly and flicks her wand. Tiny wings spurt from the paper and flap over towards the Ravenclaw girls.

 

          It lands gracefully before them.

 

          They stop giggling and open the paper, before exchanging glances. Angie cares very little for their insulted reaction. The Hufflepuff sitting next to her leans over slightly and sets the offensive Peggy illustration on fire. The flames eat it away in a matter of seconds, until it’s nothing but ash on the table. Angie smiles at him appreciatively, and neither discuss the matter.

 

          Despite her efforts, the rumours do not cease. She’s walking towards her Common Room with her friend, Sarah, when three Slytherin boys pass, deliberately thumping into her. ‘Poor Pegs is still upstairs; maybe you should kiss her better, hm?’ One of the boys mocks obnoxiously loud kissing noises. Angie’s cheeks redden, and she hurries her pace, Sarah following after her, struggling not to laugh. This whole thing is _stupid_.

 

          ‘Do you like her?’ Sarah eventually asks.

 

          ‘Ew, no!’

 

          And that’s the end of that.

 

          Except it isn’t. Because Angie _likes_ Peggy a _lot_ , and she has liked Peggy a lot for longer than she should. Lately, this “liking” business has turned into something more. It’s not a fancy, or a crush. Peggy Carter, as far as Angie is concerned, is _perfect_. Yes, she can be incredibly stubborn, proud and sometimes so self-righteous! But they are traits Angie has started to adore as the years progressed. Peggy is flawed in many ways, but these flaws only bring to light how beautiful, strong and intelligent she is.

 

          Oh, Jesus.

 

          Angie decides to hide her head in her book for the remainder of the evening.

 

          Over the past three days, Peggy has done nothing but sleep. In the Muggle World, they might suggest that Peggy has entered a coma, but Madam Pomfrey is reluctant to use that term. ‘She just needs to rest.’ Angie accepts that. She’d much rather be comforted in knowing that Peggy will wake up, then linger in the suspicion that she won’t. And, Christ, it was a _Bludger_. Madam Pomfrey has dealt with injuries from a Bludger before; Peggy’s broken bones are very fixable.

 

          She did have a nasty hit on the head, though.

 

          And the way that Bludger darted into her spine like that––Angie winces, clinging to her book. She can’t remove the image of Peggy getting pummelled by that little _shit_. Whoever tampered that Bludger will pay. They will pay _big time_. 

 

          Angie was certain it had been Dottie, but it was only in her rage and distress that she reached this predictable conclusion.

 

          It was Steve who told her that it wouldn’t make sense for Dottie to do such a thing. 

 

          ‘You know how much Dottie is devoted to Quidditch, like Peggy is. There’s no reason she’d do this to Peggy. She wants her Match!’ 

 

          True. Dottie wouldn’t jeopardise her Match with Peggy––that wouldn’t make sense. Steve’s claim was further proved when Dottie _did_ visit Peggy the day after she was sent to the Hospital Wing. 

 

          It was the first time Angie had ever seen Dottie look so––well, _concerned_. Dottie has always been puzzling, as far as her expressions are concerned: she has this chilling manner, this calm, gorgeous smile and she is impossible to decipher. Yet, seeing Peggy in a hospital bed, bruised and bleeding, Dottie was mortified. 

 

          Did she send those lilies?

 

          Angie’s heart squeezes.

 

          No––no, Dottie doesn’t _like_ Peggy. She doesn’t like Peggy, so she wouldn’t send her flowers. Would she? 

 

          Angie rolls her eyes. For God’s sake. _Who cares_? 

 

          The truth is: Angie misses Peggy. Dearly. The days are slower, emptier even. What with Peggy being her best friend, and the fact they spend most of their free time together, it’s bizarre not having her around. 

 

          It doesn’t feel right to be talking with Steve and Bucky while Peggy is absent. It doesn’t feel right to be sneaking into the Gryffindor Common Room without Peggy asking “is this such a wise idea?” and it doesn’t feel right to be sneaking in alcohol under the bed without Peggy confiscating it when things get _too_ rowdy. It doesn’t feel right to not have her to lean on while these rumours get worse and worse, and even start to hurt.

 

          Peggy doesn’t _deserve_ this. She doesn’t deserve any of this. She doesn’t deserve the gossip flowing around her while she’s stuck in bed, incapable of defending herself. She doesn’t deserve the rumours flying around that she and Angie have a thing going on. Because Angie isn’t Peggy’s type! They’re _friends_. That’s what they are: _friends_. Nothing other than that. As much as Angie wants it, she knows Peggy is out of her league.

 

_Way_ out of her league.

 

 

 

 

 

          ‘This’ll work?’

 

          ‘Yes.’

 

          ‘Really?’

 

          ‘I’m insulted that you doubt my abilities.’ Carefully, Howard places the Bludger onto the table before him. Although the Bludger which attacked Peggy has been destroyed, its partner could be of use. According to Howard. He has managed to put the Bludger into a sort of “dozing” mood so that it won’t charge away. ‘I’m renowned for my imagination, Miss Martinelli. We will have this case solved before you know it.’ He flashes a smile. ‘Amongst others.’

 

          Angie nearly bangs her head into the table. Instead, she returns his smile in a rather flirtatious manner. Peggy is particularly blunt with Howard, but Angie  finds it easier to just _swoon_ him––he likes to be complimented, and she’s very good at throwing them out. So far, he hasn’t exactly _hit_ on her.

 

          She doesn’t _think_ he has, anyway.

 

          ‘How is our girl?’ Howard asks, positioning the Bludger.

 

          ‘Steve checked on her this mornin’. Still asleep.’

 

          Howard doesn’t reply. He clears his throat and retrieves his wand. ‘All right.’ It’s at that point he realises they both have a small audience, and he casts a keen eye towards three Gryffindor ladies close by. His smile broadens. Angie hopes to _God_ that this will actually work. ‘You ready?’ He asks her.

 

          ‘Sure,’ she responds nervously.

 

          A few words are uttered from his lips, and he waves his wand in a very excessive manner. Suddenly, a jet of red sparks burst out, hitting the Bludger square on. Angie watches as the Bludger vibrates fiercely and then stops. It doesn’t move. Angie cocks a brow.

 

          ‘Was that it?’

 

          ‘No,’ Howard grumbles, frowning. ‘Uh…’ The Gryffindor girls giggle with each other. ‘It’s supposed to––’ _Thwack_! Angie yelps when the Bludger smacks him in the face, before returning to its position. Howard collapses back, falling off his chair. 

 

          ‘Oh, jeez…’ Angie hurries over to his side, kneeling down to him. ‘Stark? Howard?’ She nudges him, and his eyes flutter open. A breath of relief escapes Angie’s lips. Howard blinks, narrows his brows, and looks at her.

 

          ‘I don’t think that worked, do you?’

 

          ‘No… What’re you tryna achieve anyways?’

 

          Groaning, he sits upright, Angie helping him. Howard stares at the wall dumbly for a while. ‘Hm.’ Angie is conscious of the entertained students around them, but she has to admit Howard Stark can be _weird_ sometimes. She slowly raises a brow while he thinks in silence. Then––‘Aha!’ He jumps to his feet, and faces the Bludger again. ‘Now I know what to do.’

 

          Angie pulls a face. ‘ _What_ are you tryna do?’

 

          ‘I want this Bludger to track down whoever tampered the other Bludger.’

 

          ‘Sounds doable.’

 

          ‘Sarcasm will not get you anywhere, Miss Martinelli. Have faith in me.’ He grins.

 

          ‘Your nose is bleedin’.’

 

          ‘Oh.’ Angie passes over a tissue. ‘Thanks.’ Wiping his nose, he studies the Bludger momentarily, before turning to his audience. ‘Sorry about that––minor mishap. You’ll see the real thing now.’ Angie avoids his gaze. The audience are too busy chortling at him to listen. Howard, completely unaware that he has become the clown in the room, turns back to the Bludger. 

 

          He mumbles something, performs another swirl of his wand.

 

          Red sparks erupt from the tip again. The Bludger vibrates where it sits, except, this time, it doesn’t stop. Howard grins ear-to-ear when it starts to levitate. ‘Told you it would work.’ Angie blinks, and has to admit she’s curious now. Howard flicks his wand to the right. Nothing happens. He tries again. Nothing. 

 

          Then the Bludger drops back to the table.

 

          A few groans are emitted from the audience, and Howard watches in dismay as the students scatter. Feeling rather sympathetic, Angie comes over. ‘At least ya tried, Howard. Give it more time.’

 

          ‘Perhaps,’ Howard says, rubbing his chin. ‘Oh, well.’ He slumps his shoulders in defeat. ‘Ange, could you put the Bludger back where it came from? I’m pretty much forbidden from the Quidditch supply cupboard after what I did last time.’ Angie looks confused, so he quickly adds, ‘Guess you didn’t see that. Uh, never mind.’ He scratches the back of his head. ‘See you around.’

 

          ‘Wait, what…?’ Angie trails off because Howard completely ignores her, and leaves the room. She watches his retreating back with a dead-panned expression before claiming the Bludger and approaching the cupboard. All of that for nothing. She opens the cupboard and returns the Bludger to its rightful place. 

 

          Closing the cupboard door, she turns around and sees a Slytherin Chaser walking in her direction. Or, more like _running_. She’s beaming wide, and before she’s even reached Angie, she exclaims, ‘Peggy’s awake! Peggy’s just woken up––she’s better!’ Angie gasps, her heart races, and her feet are moving before she’s registered them to. Peggy is awake. 

 

          It’s been three _days_. 

 

          Angie follows the Chaser up the moving staircase, towards the Hospital Wing. By the time they’ve climbed so far, they’re slightly out of breath, but Angie cares very little. When she arrives at the Hospital Wing, a glare is thrown in her direction by Madam Pomfrey. Obediently, Angie stops running, the Chaser one step ahead of her. They walk past several patients and eventually reach Peggy’s bed.

 

          How remarkable magic is! Most of Peggy’s deepest wounds have scarred over, and the fact she’s _sitting upright_ is a huge deal. She’s busy talking to her other Chaser when Angie appears, and when Peggy looks at her, awake, beaten, and red cheeked, Angie almost stops dead. It always perplexes her how Peggy can look so beautiful without having to try. 

 

          ‘And a good afternoon to _you_ ,’ she remarks, smiling.

 

          If Angie had prepared anything to say, she’s forgotten it now. Her legs tremble a little as she nears the bed, and it takes everything in her to _calm down_ and _not_ throw herself at the poor girl. As tamely as she can, Angie walks to Peggy’s side of the bed and embraces her carefully. ‘I’m so _mad_ at you, English,’ she says, voice muffled. Peggy chuckles, and tightens their embrace.

 

          ‘Rather you than another nasty Bludger.’

 

          Angie pulls back and cups Peggy’s face in her hands. She’s so happy to see her, it’s ridiculous! ‘You ain’t goin’ back on that Pitch without my say so, you got that?’ Peggy just grins at her in response. They hug again, and Angie sits on the empty space of the bed beside her.

 

          ‘Hey, did we ever figure out _who_ tampered the Bludger?’ The Chaser closest to Peggy asks. The black-haired one.

 

          Peggy glances at Angie questioningly. Angie shrugs, and shakes her head. The Captain faces her two Quidditch Chasers, and says, ‘It’s not important right now. I know, for a fact, Underwood didn’t do it.’ One of the Chasers scowls at the mention of _her_ name. ‘I need to heal up, and then we can get back to practising.’

 

          Almost subconsciously, Angie reaches for Peggy’s hand and squeezes. Angie doesn’t really want to imagine Peggy flying on a broomstick anytime soon. Especially in _this_ condition. 

 

          Her two Chasers nod. They aren’t about to disobey their Captain.

 

          ‘Mind.’ Peggy starts. All three girls look at her. ‘Angie, dear. Do you recall the event in which those boys confronted you? Regarding your––upbringing,’ she says this bitterly. The entire situation tastes disgusting in her mouth. Angie nods. Peggy is referring to the Ravenclaw she gave a tail to, as well as the other lad she cast a spell on. ‘I’d very much like to have a word with them.’

 

          ‘Why?’ Angie asks. Then it dawns on her what Peggy is implying. ‘You don’t think… You think _they_ did it?’

 

          ‘I can’t say. There’s no harm in entertaining the idea.’

 

          ‘Who?’ The Chasers demand, suddenly appearing much taller than before. Slytherins are good at making themselves look intimidating; all they require are their words and posture. ‘We’ll gladly sort them out.’

 

          Peggy is amused. ‘Not without me, you won’t. Anyway, leave it be for now. I think we’re flattering them too much for assuming they can pull such a prank.’ She turns to the black-haired Chaser. ‘Rose, can you do me a favour?’

 

          ‘Sure.’

 

          ‘I booked the Quidditch Pitch for tomorrow morning. Make sure our Team have their practice, and watch out for Robbie. I remember he… had quite a nasty fall due to that wretched Bludger.’

 

          ‘He healed speedily,’ Rose confirms. ‘In fact, he only needed to stay overnight. You’re right, Pegs: he’s stronger than he looks.’

 

          ‘Mm, yes, well, that’s no surprise.’ Neither of the girls are sure whether Peggy is serious in her cockiness. Angie thinks, _yes_ , _probably_. ‘I’ll be better for the Match, I promise. I want to be out of here as soon as possible, and return to practice.’

 

          ‘You’re kidding?’ Angie slips her hand out of Peggy’s. Rose, Peggy and the other Chaser look at her. Angie laughs in bewilderment. ‘You can’t even stand on ya’own two _feet_ , you airhead.’

 

          ‘I’ll be fine!’ Peggy insists. ‘For the record, I _can_ stand on my own two feet. Not for very long, I admit, but I _can_ do it.’

 

          The two Chasers exchange tedious looks.

 

          Peggy and Angie have a knack for bickering at each other.

 

          They’re sorry to have got caught up in it. 

 

          ‘ _Oh_ , right, Pegs, that’s real comfortin’.’

 

          ‘Technically,’ Peggy tries, ‘I won’t be _standing_ during the Match.’

 

          ‘Yeah, well, _technically_ , you can’t use a broom to transport yaself ‘round Hogwarts, so you can stop crackin’ wise with me.’

 

          ‘I very much object to _sitting around_.’

 

          ‘Object all ya like, Pegs. I ain’t gonna change my mind. You’re not goin’ anywhere near a broomstick until you’re healed up, unlike you are now––’

 

          ‘Angie––’

 

          ‘No.’

 

          ‘But––’

 

          ‘ _No_.’ Angie leans down to her, and smiles crookedly. ‘You know I’m right, English, so quit gettin’ on my nerves and deal with it.’ She pats Peggy’s cheek playfully, earning a sulky face from her best friend. ‘Better.’

 

          One known fact about Peggy Carter is that she never surrenders from a fight.

 

          That is, unless she’s fighting with Angie Martinelli.

 

          Because although her House may suggest otherwise, Slytherins never win against Hufflepuffs in a fight. Like, _ever_.

 

          ‘Fine,’ Peggy says. The Chasers twitch a little smile at her resigned state. They know better than to laugh at her. Honestly, though, seeing Captain Peggy Carter get scolded by her best friend is not only _hilarious_ , but kind of _adorable_. ‘I won’t practice until I can walk. _Properly_.’ She glances at Angie with a cocked brow, who nods her head, pleased.

 

          Rose sniggers. ‘No problem, Peggy.’ She brushes past her other Chaser and whispers, ‘Guess the rumours are true.’

 

          ‘What rumours?’ Peggy asks.

 

          ‘No rumours!’ Angie blurts out.

 

          Peggy gives her a funny look. In a hurry, the other two Chasers leave the Hospital Wing, thankful to escape from Peggy’s wrath. That would have not ended nicely. Leaning back against her pillow, Peggy fiddles with a loose thread attached to her quilt. She wants to ask about those rumours. 

 

          But the look Angie is giving her is enough for Peggy to keep her mouth shut.

 

          Now that they have the Wing to themselves, Angie doesn’t feel so restricted. She is an expressive girl, and there is a _lot_ she needs to express to Peggy. Such as, _you’re an idiot_ or _did you see the way that Bludger beat you up? Oh my God_ or even _seeing you like that broke my heart, you numbskull, and I never ever ever want you to jump on a freakin’ broomstick again_ and also _if I said that I loved you, like really, really loved you would that encourage you to stop flyin’ around like a raving loony?_ Yet none of these sentences are voiced.

 

          Instead, she says, ‘Stop lookin’ at me like that.’

 

          Peggy stops. She softens her expression. ‘I haven’t missed much, have I?’

 

          ‘Nah, not really.’ Angie thinks about the love heart message the two Ravenclaws sent her, and her cheeks flush slightly. ‘Uh, nothin’ of importance, although one student has been dared to run around Hogwarts all afternoon wearing nothin’ but his underwear––’

 

          ‘I meant work. As in, _school work_ , Angie.’

 

          ‘Oh. Oh!’ Angie gives her a look. ‘You’ve been awake for less than an hour, Pegs, and you’re askin’ about _that_?’ She runs a hand through Peggy’s hair affectionately. ‘How hard _did_ ya knock that head a’yours?’

 

          ‘Not hard enough, apparently. Us Carters have thick skulls.’

 

          ‘You do pick odd things to brag about.’

 

          Peggy won’t admit that she likes Angie’s hand in her hair, how good it feels to be touched like this. A heavy sigh escapes her when Angie retreats. 

 

          ‘Off so soon?’

 

          ‘I’ll be back; I just think Steve would like to know his best gal lives,’ Angie remarks. 

 

 

 

 

 

          Apparently, Steve Rogers is in the Gryffindor Common Room with Bucky Barnes, playing Wizards Chess. One Gryffindor invites Angie inside, but, unfortunately, Steve and Bucky are nowhere to be found. She considers coming back later when another Gryffindor points her to the right, ‘They went down there somewhere––at least that’s when I last saw ‘em.’

 

          She follows his directions.

 

          It doesn’t really occur to her that privacy is a privilege until it’s too late.

 

          One of the doors is left ajar, leading into another room. Angie guesses Steve has gone through that, but the moment she opens said door two things happen all at once.

 

          The first thing is the look on Steve’s face when Angie catches him making out with Bucky.

 

          The second thing is Angie yelling out in surprise, turning away bright red, and insistingly saying _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, oh, good God, I saw nothin’, I’m so, so, sorry!_  

 

          Both boys buckle against the door, lose their balance, and trip over each other. Angie whams into the table, her knee knocking awfully against against the table leg. It’s all a bit of a mess really. Despite his flustered nerves, and trembling hands, Steve manages to find his footing and grab Angie by the sleeve before she can run––or, _limp_ ––away.

 

          ‘It’s fine, Angie!’

 

          ‘If I’d’ve known, I wouldn’t’ve gone near––’ Angie sees Bucky in the far corner, looking distressed and wanting nothing more than to bash his red face into  the wall. She looks at Steve. 

 

          How.

 

          Have they…?

 

_No…_

 

          But _when_?

 

          Her face flushes even more, and most of what she says comes out in rapid gibberish. ‘Oh, God, if I’d’ve known you two were, y’know, like _that_ I’msorryI’msosorry––’

 

          ‘Ange, stop! It––It’s fine. Right?’ 

 

          Steve glances at Bucky for confirmation, to which his best friend just nods frantically, stops and slaps his face with his hand. All three of them are looking pretty dumb at the moment, and how much Angie _wishes_ she could turn back time and just _not_ go looking for Steve.

 

          ‘It’s fine, it’s fine,’ Steve mumbles.

 

          ‘You promise not to say anything?’ Bucky finally says, his voice unusually high-pitched.

 

          ‘Who’d I tell anyway?’ Angie replies. Then she remembers her purpose for actually being here. She completely forgets about her intrusion and yanks Steve by the collar of his robes. ‘You gotta come quick––you won’t believe who just woke up!’

 

          He knows; of course he knows. For the moment, their “incident” is forgotten about as all three hurry out of the Gryffindor Common Room and make their way towards the Hospital Wing.

 

          When they get there, the trio mentally note _not_ to discuss Bucky and Steve’s situation to Peggy.

 

          They’ll at least give her the dignity to gawp when she’s no longer lying in a hospital bed.

 

 

 

 

 

          Peggy doesn’t ask about the flowers. It remains a mystery as to who sent them, but she shows little interest. All that’s currently on Peggy’s mind is the Quidditch Match and she is relentless. Her obsession is quite exhausting. Not only that, but her stressful nature is making Angie stressed, so the Hufflepuff has decided to give her space when she needs it.

 

          Which isn’t often, because whenever Angie does saunter away, Peggy calls her back immediately. 

 

          Angie isn’t exactly Quidditch pro. So it baffles her why Peggy is asking for her advice on issues regarding the Match. The latest concern is whether their brooms are fast enough; they’re old and used, property of Hogwarts. Do they, as a Team, have enough wizarding money to buy a whole brand new set of broomsticks? It’ll definitely leave them in the advantage. 

 

          The only question is _which_ brooms.

 

          Eventually, before bedtime, Angie swipes away Peggy’s pad of notes and confiscates them until the following afternoon.

 

 

 

 

 

          The Slytherin Quidditch Team breathe a sigh of relief when Peggy is finally given permission to leave the Hospital Wing. Unfortunately, her bones are still brittle, and her spine requires more time in order to heal properly. Madam Pomfrey sets out a few rules for Peggy to follow, no exceptions:

 

          1) Do not stand for long periods of time 2) No duelling, absolutely _not_ 3) Use your crutch at all times otherwise there _will_ be trouble and 4) Most importantly, no matter what the circumstance––and I don’t care if your Match _is_ tomorrow or next month––you are _forbidden_ to ride a broomstick or so much as go _near_ one. 

 

          Peggy nods. ‘Of course.’

 

          Ten minutes later she has a broomstick in her hand. 

 

          Her Quidditch Team have agreed to meet her in the grounds, and Peggy spends the next hour highlighting which parts of the broomstick are letting them down, how it can be fixed, and if anybody has any suggestions to avoid problems regarding speed. Peggy is not determined to lose against Ravenclaw.

 

          Over her dead body will they hold the Quidditch Cup, damn it.

 

          Rose and Gilbert agree to visit Hogsmeade and look into broomsticks. ‘It doesn’t matter if we can’t buy a new broom for each of us, but I’d very much like at least a Chaser to have one, as well as our Seeker.’ They all nod in agreement. ‘Practice is tomorrow morning, at seven. I’ll meet you all on the Pitch. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to participate but I shall observe.’

 

          No one has any complaints. In fact, they’re overjoyed about the fact their Captain hasn’t given up because of a nasty fall. 

 

          ‘Double check that the Bludgers are safe. I don’t want any more accidents.’

 

          After the hour is up, Peggy’s entire back is killing her. She enters Hogwarts and hisses in pain, pressing a hand to her lower back. She can _feel_ her spine  knotting itself back together. It’s like an electric shock passing up and down her spine, and it’s the most dominant pain Peggy has ever endured.

 

          She needs to sit down. 

 

          Maybe Madam Pomfrey was right: no standing for an excessive amount of time.

 

          Sounds reasonable.

 

          Peggy isn’t sure about the lack of Quidditch, though. She _is_ Quidditch Captain. What kind of Quidditch Captain retires only _days_ before their big, final Match against their rival House?

 

          Applying more weight to her crutch helps. Peggy has gone to her dormitory to collect a few pieces of homework she has neglected to finish due to her accident. She sits at the Slytherin table in The Great Hall, and takes an orange from the fruit bowl. Absently peeling away the skin, she reads through the questions she has to answer, and the mini essay at the bottom of the paper.

 

          It’s basically a true or false questionnaire on vampires. The sort of stuff Peggy couldn’t be less bothered about.

 

          ‘Hey, Peggy.’

 

          She looks up.

 

          Daniel Sousa is smiling down at her. ‘I’m really pleased you’re walking around again.’

 

          ‘Thank you,’ Peggy replies. ‘Lying around is quite unbearable. I’m pleased myself.’ 

 

          ‘Do you need any help?’

 

          ‘Hm?’

 

          He points to her homework.

 

          ‘Oh, no thank you! I have it all under my sleeve.’ 

 

          ‘I don’t doubt that,’ Daniel points towards the Hufflepuff table. ‘If you _do_ require help, I’ll be over there.’ He takes a step back, stops and turns back to her. ‘Did you like my flowers?’

 

          Flowers… Flowers! The lilies!

 

          Peggy’s face brightens. ‘They were from _you_?’

 

          ‘I hoped you might like them.’

 

          ‘Oh, they were _gorgeous_. Thank you so much.’

 

          Daniel’s smile broadens. ‘Really? When I heard about your accident, I was very worried about you. I know you can hold your own, but we all have our limits, I suppose. I wish I was there so I could have helped.’

 

          ‘That’s very sweet, although there really wasn’t anything you could have done.’

 

          ‘Perhaps not.’ He dawdles for a moment, the tips of his cheeks reddening. Holding his clutch a little tighter, he says, ‘Do you want to go for a coffee sometime? Or a Butterbeer? I don’t mind.’

 

          It has been some time since anybody has asked Peggy out on a date, but even if she did have a ridiculous amount of experience, she still wouldn’t know what to say in these situations. The quill in her hand stills, and she looks up at him, lips parted. Daniel is cute, she’ll give him that, but to commit to a relationship?

 

          Does she have the time?

 

          ‘That sounds––’

 

          ‘Oh, _Peggy_ , you’re here!’ Dottie Underwood has walked straight past Daniel and sat in the seat in front of her, eyes wide with worry. ‘I was so _scared_ when I found out what happened! Do you have any idea who tampered that Bludger?’ Dottie is suddenly aware that she has interrupted a conversation. She peers over her shoulder to see Daniel looking terribly awkward, blushing bright red. ‘Oh.’ She looks at Peggy. ‘Oh, I hope I’m not getting in your way…’

 

          ‘You’re fine.’ Peggy glances at Daniel, and tries to smile reassuringly. ‘I’ll get back to you, okay?’

 

          Dottie has clearly grown impatient with the Hufflepuff, because she speaks before Daniel has the opportunity to. ‘I hope you’ll be healed in time for our Match. I’d hate for it to be cancelled.’

 

          ‘That won’t happen,’ Peggy says. ‘I’d hate for it to be cancelled as well.’

 

          ‘Well, if you require any assistance…’ Her eyes fall to Peggy’s crutch leaning against the table.

 

          ‘Thank you, Dottie. I’m sure I’ll be fine.’

 

          ‘Mm.’ Her eyes flash to Peggy’s, and her worry has transformed into something quite devilish. ‘By the way, I’ve told Lorraine to keep a good distance from you. I understand she was present when the Bludger attacked you.’

 

          ‘Unrelated.’

 

          ‘Oh, no doubt about it. I just don’t want her to distract you when you have to focus.’

 

          Their eyes meet. Peggy isn’t so convinced about Dottie’s hospitality anymore and she wonders what the blonde is trying to achieve when a pile of books slam down onto the table beside her. Only one person in the entire school would have to be _that_ passive aggressive in order to get attention.

 

          Clearly Angie isn’t very keen on Dottie Underwood.

 

          Because the look she is giving her right now… well, Peggy is surprised Dottie doesn’t just burn on the spot.

 

          ‘I should leave you two alone,’ Dottie smiles crookedly.

 

          Angie smiles. Sarcastic. ‘That’d be lovely, Iowa.’

 

          ‘Have fun,’ Dottie winks at her, and turns away and out of The Great Hall. Peggy frowns at her retreating back. What was that all about? 

 

          Peggy watches Angie open her first book, and pull out a sheet of rolled up parchment. Okay. Clearly Angie isn’t all too pleased with Peggy’s choice of people to socialise with. She has this adorable, little pout as she tries her hardest to ignore Peggy gazing at her with this incredibly _darling_ expression.

 

          Peggy _really_ shouldn’t look at her like that.

 

          People will start to ask questions.

 

          Oh, wait. 

 

          They already have.

 

          Angie _is_ funny. She makes the effort to distract Peggy from anybody else except her, and then refuses to so much as meet her gaze. Well then. Peggy shuffles closer, and nudges her waist playfully with her elbow. ‘I’m _really_ struggling with this––’ she points to her homework, ‘Would you mind helping me?’

 

          The Hufflepuff avoids her eyes, and goes straight for the homework. She cocks a brow. ‘Oh, is this the homework you told Sousa you didn’t need help on?’

 

          ‘Sorry?’

 

          Angie twitches a little smile. ‘He told me. He tells me a lotta things about you, y’know?’

 

          Peggy blinks stupidly. ‘Really?’

 

          Could anybody be more oblivious to the obvious? Angie tightens a fist under the table, not too sure how to feel about Peggy’s sudden smile. Peggy downcasts her gaze to her homework. ‘You shouldn’t lie, Pegs.’ The smile drops, and Peggy frowns at her. ‘Somebody’ll get hurt.’

 

          Peggy sighs heavily. ‘Okay. So, when are you going to tell me what’s wrong?’ Angie’s left eye twitches. ‘Keep this attitude up, then somebody _will_ get hurt, and it won’t be me.’ 

 

          ‘Aw. You’d hurt me, Pegs?’

 

          ‘I didn’t mean it like that.’

 

          ‘No?’

 

          ‘No.’ Peggy chews on her lower lip, facing forwards. ‘Listen, I’ve done what you’ve wanted: I haven’t flown my broom, and I _am_ sitting down. Please tell me why you’re angry.’

 

          ‘I’m _not_ ,’ Angie retorts. Peggy raises her brows. ‘I’m _thinking_.’

 

          ‘Thinking, is it? I see.’

 

          Angie throws her a blunt look. ‘Shut up, English.’

 

          ‘All right.’

 

          As is usually the case, Angie’s temper––while it is frightening––sizzles out very quickly. When ten minutes have passed, and they’ve been sitting together furiously scribbling their homework, Angie stops to look at Peggy again. There’s a long pause. Then, with no warning, Angie wraps her arms around Peggy and embraces her so softly, yet firmly, Peggy stills entirely in her seat.

 

          They’ve never liked arguing, especially Angie. And she doesn’t allow the heated tension to last long either.

 

          ‘I’m sorry,’ Angie says, nuzzling her nose into Peggy’s neck. ‘I’m just scared.’

 

          Peggy’s hand finds Angie’s robes and she pulls her closer. ‘About what?’

 

          ‘About what’ll happen to you.’ 

 

          Peggy softens her expression. Of course it never occurred to her that Angie would feel this way. So bogged down in her obsession to win the Match, Peggy forgot about the people who love her––of course Angie wants her safe. Of course Angie wants Peggy to be happy. 

 

          Of course the only thing that Angie has been thinking about is the Quidditch Match, because that’s all Peggy has been thinking about as well.

 

          Hufflepuffs have a habit for caring too deeply. 

 

          Peggy kisses her forehead, ‘It will be fine, I promise.’ Angie loosens their embrace to look at her. She reaches over to brush the back of her hand across Peggy’s cheek. They don’t exchange words after that––the silence fills the void for them. Peggy’s hand slips from Angie’s robes, placing it between them. 

 

          There’s something wrong with her heart, because it’s really loud and heavy in her chest, and if Angie keeps looking at her like _that_ then Peggy isn’t so sure she’ll be able to stand again.

 

          Peggy blinks, exhales and it’s as if they’re both expecting the other to break the silence.

 

          Neither do.

 

          Peggy’s eyes focus on Angie’s lips momentarily. 

 

          ‘Good morning!’

 

          Instantly the two girls look away, and Angie is forced to shuffle aside when Steve neatly slots in-between them. Peggy runs a hand through her hair, and turns to her homework, whereas Angie just stares at the wall dumbly. Steve looks between the two, a mix of concern and puzzlement written on his face.

 

          The awkwardness only heightens when Bucky joins them.

 

          Angie just needs to look at him.

 

          They remember.

 

          And, God, Angie _cannot_ get the image of Bucky enthusiastically shoving his tongue down Steve’s throat––

 

          She stiffens.

 

          It’s as if their cheeks are on fire. Angie can’t take the agony. She stands to her feet, flustered and wobbly. ‘I gotta go.’ 

 

          Peggy avoids looking at her, apparently _fascinated_ in her homework while Steve watches her go with a look of disappointment. 

 

          Bucky slowly stands up. ‘You know what? So do I.’ And he’s gone.

 

          Steve frowns. 

 

          How on earth did he manage to befriend such _idiots_?

 

          ‘At least I have you,’ he says to Peggy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

          Of course Angie knows Peggy will be present during practice the following morning. And of course she’s going to make sure her best friend doesn’t break her leg in the process. Peggy _does_ love the Quidditch Pitch in the morning, the sun shining down, and the smell of fresh, green grass and the _sky_.

 

_The sky_.

 

          Peggy looks up at it longingly. 

 

          ‘No,’ Angie says.

 

          ‘I wasn’t even going to––’ Peggy stops when Angie grins at her, pushing her playfully.

 

          They exchange pouty expressions.

 

          Angie’s being far less sympathetic.

 

          The Slytherin Quidditch Team, aside from Peggy, mount their broomsticks and practice starts. Peggy stubbornly stands, just outside the ring, arms folded and watching her players intensely. Nothing of particular interest happens: both Chasers play against one another, and the Beaters are considerably more focussed than before. No doubt Peggy’s incident has left a scar on them.

 

          Peggy catches sight of the Snitch. It’s so tricky to see in this light, but she sees it. The Captain flicks her eyes towards her Seeker, who clearly hasn’t spotted it yet. To her relief, however, Robbie eventually does, and zooms in the direction the Snitch has gone.

 

          A sharp stab of pain jabs at her.

 

          Peggy groans, a hand pressed to her hip. Angie tears her gaze from the Match and comes closer, holding Peggy’s shoulders. ‘Hey, Pegs? You okay, hon?’

 

          ‘Mhmm.’ Peggy straightens, which is a mistake. She buckles forwards, jarring her teeth.

 

          ‘You idiot. Sit _down_.’

 

          ‘No, I’m––’

 

          ‘Margaret Carter, do as I say, or I’ll _make you_.’

 

          Peggy holds up a hand in defence, and does as she’s told. Angie sits beside her, and Peggy can’t recall the last time she has seen Angie look so terrified. It’s actually very endearing and painfully _cute_. 

 

          ‘Where does it hurt? Tell me where it hurts?’

 

          ‘Just––here,’ Peggy points to her waist, ‘And my back–– _ouch_.’

 

          ‘You must have strained yourself. I knew this was a bad idea.’

 

          ‘Indeed,’ she grumbles.

 

          During the remainder of practice, Angie fusses over Peggy while the Captain tries her hardest to continue observing. Once her Team have descended, Angie helps Peggy to her feet and before she has the opportunity to discuss with her players what was great and what wasn’t so great, Angie escorts her out of the Pitch and towards Hogwarts Castle.

 

          ‘This is completely unnecessary.’

 

          Angie just ignores her. One arm around Peggy’s shoulders, the other pulling at her robes, Angie guides Peggy towards the Prefects Bathroom. She flicks her wand, voicing the correct spell, and the doors become unlocked. Peggy glances at Angie with a puzzled expression while the heavy doors open, but still Angie hasn’t offered an explanation. 

 

          She leads Peggy inside, and then lets her go.

 

          After locking the door, Angie flicks her wand towards the hundreds of taps surrounding them. Water gushes out from each, echoing the roomy space. They have an entire bathroom to themselves, and it must be said that the Prefects Bathroom is _gigantic_. Luxury for a King. 

 

          ‘Sit.’

 

          ‘Angela––’

 

          ‘Sit down.’

 

          Peggy rolls her eyes. She falls down to her knees where Angie joins her. To her surprise, Angie comes round behind her and peels away Peggy’s robes. Peggy turns her head to try and talk to her, but only receives a snappy retort. From that point on, Peggy simply decides to do whatever Angie asks.

 

          Even if it’ll wound her pride.

 

          Peggy hisses in pain when Angie manages to unbutton her shirt and remove it from her back. This clearly triggers something. Gently, Angie places a hand to her spine, and lets her fingers brush up and down, soothing the agony. It seems to work. Angie drops her wand, and brings her hands to Peggy’s shoulder blades, where she softly massages her tired muscles. 

 

          It’s a startling remedy, and it hurts tremendously at first while Angie searches for tight knots, kneading them carefully beneath her fingertips. Peggy bites down on her lower lip. Whatever Angie is doing, it’s working miraculously, and she hasn’t even used magic.

 

          ‘One of my mama’s friends is a masseuse. She taught me a couple a’tricks.’

 

          Peggy sighs. ‘You seem to––’ She tenses when Angie’s thumb presses into _just_ the right spot, ‘––know what you’re doing.’

 

          Angie smiles softly. ‘Will you start trustin’ me now?’

 

          ‘I already do.’

 

          The taps stop pouring, and the bathtub––which is easily the size of one’s apartment––is filled to the brim with bubbly, warm water. Angie’s hands slips away  from Peggy’s bare back. She stands to her feet, grabs her wand and performs a very quick magic spell. 

 

          Peggy watches as multicoloured sparks emit from the tip of Angie’s wand, gracefully falling into the water. The moment these sparks hit the surface, the water changes into a soothing, light blue. All Peggy can think of is the sky. Like it was this morning at practice. 

 

          ‘This’ll help ease the tension in your body. You’re just stressed, Pegs.’

 

          Angie offers a hand to help Peggy to her feet. Her eyes glance towards a wound the Bludger caused. It’s a harsh gash across Peggy’s right shoulder, which has fortunately scarred over. Still, the wound looks harsh, and painful for that matter. Their eyes meet, and the blueness of the water reflects against the walls, radiating the room. The colour makes Angie’s eyes shine.

 

          ‘You’re gonna be the death of me, Pegs.’

 

          ‘I would be mortified if that were the case.’

 

          ‘Mm. I can think of worse ways to die. C’mere.’ Angie unbuckles Peggy’s belt, letting it hit the floor. She doesn’t venture much further than that. Angie is so careful, _so careful_ , when she hugs Peggy this time. And as she does, Peggy can feel her trembling, can feel her terror at what may happen during the Match. 

 

          Peggy slumps into her slightly. She has been so _stupid_. 

 

          Despite her weak state, Peggy’s hold on Angie is surprisingly firm, not that Angie has any complaints. She smiles slightly, pressing her lips to the crook of Peggy’s neck. She smells slightly of the dust in the broom cupboard. Peggy smells of Quidditch, her favourite mint tea; the coconut shampoo she always uses. 

 

          Angie doesn’t want to think about that Bludger. The way Peggy’s broomstick snapped; how her body was thrown to the ground. The horrifying image of Peggy dangling unconsciously in the air, while that Bludger homed in on her again––

 

          ‘Don’t get hurt. Please don’t get hurt again.’

 

          ‘I won’t,’ Peggy replies, ‘I’m sorry. I won’t.’

 

          And she nearly says it then. Nearly says what’s been on her mind for months, years possibly. She nearly utters those dreaded three words, but Angie stops herself. She can’t do that. She can’t do that to Peggy, not when her big day is so soon. Not when she knows the rejection will hurt more than she can imagine.

 

          They cling to each other for a few more minutes. Angie rubs her cheek against Peggy’s affectionately as she retreats. 

 

          Idly, Angie brushes a strand of hair from Peggy’s eyes. 

 

          ‘I’ll leave you to it. Take ya time.’

 

          And then she’s through the heavy doors; gone. Peggy turns to the bathwater, the bubbles and the bright blue of Angie’s spell. Stripping off her final layers, Peggy hesitantly steps into the tub, and almost immediately it feels as if all the knots in her muscles have detached, and she can _move_.

 

          The stained-glass window above her, illustrating that of a mermaid holding a pitch fork, ripples with colour in the sunlight, caressing warmth across Peggy’s skin. She leans against the tub, and effortlessly relaxes.

 

          Angie has made this easy work for her.

 

          But, really, Peggy should expect nothing less.


	4. 04

          The Gryffindor Common Room always has a sense of security about it. All the dormitories are covered in a deep red––carpets, flags, curtains. It’s soothing, comforting and snug. 

 

          Which is one of the reasons non-Gryffindors like to sneak into the Gryffindor Common Room with their Gryffindor pals. 

 

          Particularly the Slytherins. While their Common Room is cool and very matching for their tastes (the lack of warmth is more appealing than one might think), the Gryffindor Common Room definitely has something theirs doesn’t.

 

          A fireplace for starters.

 

          For over an hour now, Peggy has been sprawled across the settee, closest to the fire, throwing the Quaffle up to the ceiling. All in a rather idle manner, too busy lost in her own head to think about what she’s doing. Which is why she, at some point, misses the Quaffle and it lands heavily onto Steve’s head.

 

          He’s seated next to the settee, working on his Astronomy.

 

          In an impatient manner, he chucks the Quaffle back at her. For a boy his size, that ball is pretty big. And it _hurts_.

 

          Peggy returns to catching the Quaffle. 

 

          ‘So.’ She smiles crookedly. ‘What is this I hear about you and Mister Barnes?’

 

          ‘Hm? What?’ Steve asks, distracted.

 

          Peggy holds the Quaffle, ‘Rumour has it, you both have been _fonduing_ in _concealed_ areas.’

 

          From the corner of her eye, she notices Steve has stiffened. In fact, she’s almost certain he’s stopped breathing altogether. 

 

          ‘We, uh––’ he stutters pathetically, cheeks burning red. ‘I––uh, we, uh, have been _talking_.’

 

          ‘Oh,’ Peggy murmurs, frowning at the Quaffle, ‘Some very _saucy_ talking apparently––‘

 

          ‘Peggy.’ He looks at her now, eyes pleading with her to cooperate and to please, please, _please_ not tell anybody about the truth of these rumours. And when he looks at her like _that_ , doe-eyed and innocent, how can Peggy refuse? She’s always had a soft spot for Steve Rogers. ‘I dunno if––’ he curls his lips, ‘I don’t know if what we have _is_ anything, but we’ve been talking about _us_ for a long time, and then, one night, we were laughing and just having a lot of fun together, and then things moved ahead really fast and then suddenly he’s kissing me and I’m kissing him and––’

 

          ‘Steve. It’s fine. Honestly. I only want you to be all right. Frankly––’ Peggy shrugs, ‘––I’ve always known. About Bucky and you.’

 

          ‘Really?’

 

          ‘Mhmm.’

 

          Steve blinks. ‘Oh.’ He has to laugh a little, relieved and impressed. ‘It’s always hard to hide anything from you. Why are Slytherins always so good at reading people?’ Peggy chuckles, and returns to throwing her Quaffle into the air. Leaning his arm onto the settee, Steve looks up at her. ‘By the way, who told you about me and Bucky?’ Peggy smiles knowingly. ‘I should’ve known,’ he mutters.

 

          ‘Miss Martinelli is as loyal as any Hufflepuff, but, _goodness_ , she can have her foot in her mouth. I knew something was on her mind. Trust me, Steve, she wouldn’t have told me if I didn’t use my ways.’

 

          ‘What the Hell does that mean?’

 

          ‘You know how convincing I am.’

 

          ‘I know how _controlling_ you are.’ Immediately, he regrets that, because the look Peggy is currently giving him could scare off a werewolf. ‘Sorry.’ In response, she raises a brow at him. ‘I can imagine what Angie was like. I felt bad when she caught us in the act.’ He cringes. ‘I doubted she would be able to keep it to herself. Especially from you.’

 

          ‘Angie is an expressive girl,’ Peggy sighs heavily, placing the Quaffle onto her tummy. ‘She always has been. Not to mention _dramatic_. Quite like _you_ , I dare say.’

 

          ‘I’m not _dramatic_. I admit, I can be _serious_ sometimes, but––’

 

          ‘Dramatic.’

 

          ‘Fine! Dramatic. Whatever.’

 

          ‘Dramatically gay.’

 

          ‘Peggy. Really.’

 

          ‘Apologies.’ She grins ear-to-ear. ‘Now I know why Bucky has been gazing at you so lovingly. You two are disgusting.’

 

          ‘Hey, it’s not my fault if he’s not subtle about the matter.’ Steve chews on the inside of his lip, and pushes himself to say, ‘You’re one to talk.’

 

          ‘Excuse me?’

 

          ‘About being dramatic.’ Turning to face her properly, Steve props himself on one elbow. Peggy frowns at him. ‘Or, dramatically _gay_ as you so crudely put it.’ Her frown deepens, and he isn’t sure if her anger is rising or if she’s just puzzled. ‘You and Angie have been hanging around each other a lot.

 

          ‘Indeed.’

 

          ‘Nothing you wish to share?’

 

          ‘Don’t be daft.’ If Peggy _does_ have anything to share, she hides it well. She runs a finger across one of the indents in the Quaffle. ‘I appreciate the gossip regarding our relationship, but I can assure you that nothing is going on.’ 

 

          Even if Angie is all Peggy has been thinking about lately. Even if Angie has _completely_ topped Peggy’s Quidditch as far as priorities are concerned. Even if, somehow, Angie managed to magically heal Peggy’s aching bones before her Quidditch Match. Even if Angie’s smile is contagious, her eyes so blue and excited, and just everything about her is so cheerful and warm and lovely.

 

          Even if Angie has the temper of a two-year-old, and thinks that walking off in a tantrum is the best way to get what she wants.

 

          Bloody Hell.

 

          Why _does_ Peggy attract the Drama Queens? The men included.

 

          Steve is smiling at her in this really irritating way. He’s not stupid. He’s observed their behaviour, just like Peggy has observed Steve and Bucky’s behaviour. And even if Peggy isn’t great at expressing her feelings, Angie certainly is. The way she looks at Peggy, as if she were the light of her life, is unmistakable. 

 

          Also, since when have a Hufflepuff and a Slytherin spent so much time together?

 

          ‘What do you see in him?’

 

          Steve is slightly taken aback by her question, but he doesn’t need to think about it. His irritating smirk settles into something soft and dazed. ‘His support, I suppose, and his constant encouragement. I’m not used to that sort of thing. He’d defend me without a moment’s hesitation, and I’m the same. We’ve always made a good team. Plus, I’ve always liked his eyes.’

 

          ‘Oh.’

 

          ‘I just find them really nice.’

 

          Peggy gazes up at the ceiling. ‘Yeah.’

 

          She thinks about Bucky’s eyes, then Steve’s, and then she thinks about Angie’s eyes. They _glow_. Brimming with the huge amounts of energy she carries around with her everyday. Eyes which shatter into pieces as the tears pour. Eyes which are wide and perplexed at the sight of anything unusual. Eyes which reveal hundreds and hundreds of unspoken thoughts; trapped words, desperate to rip through. 

 

          ‘Eyes _are_ nice,’ she says absent-mindedly. ‘I like eyes too.’

 

          Steve gives her a funny look. He shakes his head and snorts to himself, returning to his homework. All the while, Peggy is still on the settee, thinking about the girl who’ll undoubtedly cheer her on when the Match starts. 

 

          That girl, robed in yellow.

 

 

 

 

 

          Angie tries her best to ignore the fact that Peggy is currently scheming ways to win the Quidditch Match on a piece of parchment, while their Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson is in progress. Trust Peggy to get distracted with Quidditch. Angie taps her quill nervously, and sneaks a peek at what Peggy is writing.

 

          Or, drawing.

 

          A group of broomsticks, which Angie guesses is Peggy’s Team (the letter “S” is a bit of a giveaway), all have arrows to follow on the parchment. If these arrows are followed, then all the broomsticks will avoid the other broomsticks approaching them, undoubtedly the Ravenclaw Team. Peggy has even drawn one of her Beaters to hit a Bludger in the deliberate direction of one of the Chasers.

 

          She wants at least _two_ Ravenclaw players to fall off their broomsticks.

 

          A nasty resort, but Peggy plays _nasty_ in the air.

 

          She wasn’t sorted into Slytherin House for no reason. 

 

          The professor neglects to notice Peggy’s lack of interest in the subject of pixies and how they cope in the Winter (using quite aggressive means in order to survive). Angie is keen on Peggy taking a break from Quidditch, but, to be fair, her Match is in less than a week, and still much is to be done.

 

          Angie winces when one Slytherin player is knocked off their broom on the parchment. Peggy growls quietly, and scrunches up the piece of parchment. Clearly her idea didn’t work. Peggy starts again, furiously scribbling away. Her other hand, unused, rests on her leg, and Angie feels tempted to hold it. Hold her hand with both of hers, squeeze affectionately in the hopes of calming Peggy down.

 

          ‘Miss Martinelli, am I boring you?’

 

          Turning bright red, Angie realises that the entire classroom has turned to the two students. Peggy realises they have become the centre of attention, and raises her head. The professor fumes. 

 

          ‘And _you_ , Miss Carter. Am I boring you as well?’

 

          ‘Well.’ Angie widens her eyes at the sound of Peggy answering back. She internally cringes. ‘Surely the definition of “boring” is subjective, professor. I wouldn’t suggest your lesson is _boring_. More, _unimportant_ right now.’

 

          Is this girl insane? Oh, wait. Angie already knows that.

 

          She turns her head to Peggy, her left eye twitching. Peggy shrugs innocently at her. The professor steps over to their table, and Angie is now fully aware that they are both in big, big trouble. 

 

          Huge thank you to Peggy and her quick tongue.

 

          ‘Unimportant, Miss Carter? Do you _find_ my lessons unimportant?’

 

          ‘Yes. I _did_ say that.’

 

          Angie nearly slaps herself. 

 

          ‘Clearly you find your House unimportant too. Twenty points from Slytherin for your attitude.’

 

          ‘Twenty?’ Peggy mouths to Angie, gaping.

 

          ‘And, Miss Martinelli, that’s ten points from your House. Consider yourselves lucky I didn’t throw a harsher punishment in your direction.’

 

          Several students are chortling, and Peggy is certain she hears _Peggy Farter_ whispered behind her. The idiocy of this classroom makes her brain ache. Angie feels compelled to say something, but sits back in silence, hands clenched under the table. She really does _loathe_ it when Peggy gets her into trouble.

 

          Peggy realises her error. In the next minute, a slip of parchment is under Angie’s nose. A rather poor illustration of their professor is shown, tripping over his own shoelaces.

 

          At first Angie tries not to laugh. She won’t give Peggy the pleasure.

 

          Then she looks at her face, and they burst into a fit of giggles.

 

          The next thing they know they have Detention together.

 

 

 

 

 

          Detention involves clearing away the greenhouse after a rather chaotic Herbology lesson. Fifteen minutes in, Angie watches Peggy give up entirely, sit on one of the stools, flick her wand, and then observe as all the pots and plants walk back to their designated areas. She does this effortlessly, already pulling out her parchment and quill to go over her plans for the Match, reading them aloud to Angie.

 

          Who, quite frankly, just stares silently, brush in hand.

 

          Because, honestly, she doesn’t know how she could have fallen so deeply in love with such an idiotic, brilliant _dumbass_.

 

          But since when has anything within Hogwarts grounds made any rational sense?

 

 

 

 

 

          A mix of Ravenclaw and Slytherin Quidditch posters are up around Hogwarts, and, fortunately, none of them are insulting. In fact, they’re more flattering than anything. There’s one Slytherin poster in particular Angie is fond of. It’s one of the entire Slytherin Quidditch Team, hugging each other and celebrating last year’s Match against Gryffindor––a very speedy win on their part.

 

          Of course it’s Peggy who Angie notices in the moving photograph. Slightly muddy cheeked and hair slightly wild from their crazy Match. Their Seeker was a final year, and he was the sole reason they won the Match. Sure, the Chasers did win seventy points, but their victory was placed on their Seeker when he caught the Snitch.

 

          Both Peggy and Angie bump into each other around noon, and agree to escort each other to Transfiguration. Peggy is in a bit of a flustered hurry, writing the last few paragraphs to her essay as she walks, her quill sometimes refusing to cooperate. As they near the staircase, the quill flicks itself at her, and stands upright in a huff.

 

          It won’t write her essay any longer.

 

          Peggy scolds the quill, grabbing it by the feather. ‘You’ve been nothing but useless all year-round!’

 

          ‘Hey, Pegs, quit it.’ Angie retrieves her quill. ‘Use mine.’

 

          Growling, Peggy chucks her own quill aside, and takes Angie. To her relief, Angie’s quill cooperates, and as they bound up the staircase, now ten minutes late, Peggy is near the end of her conclusion. Angie is one step ahead, and peers at Peggy over her shoulder. The Captain is red-cheeked, muttering words under her breath, writing as fast as she possibly can, almost colliding into a fellow student.

 

          When her final word is written, Peggy picks up the pace, and they’re close to reaching the end of the staircase, when Angie’s quill escapes Peggy’s hand, nudging Angie’s shoulder. Angie reaches over to grab it, but her quill has a mind of its own, and returns to Peggy. 

 

          Then it starts to draw something on Peggy’s left cheek.

 

          ‘What the––?’ Peggy stops running, and tries to grab the quill. It dodges out of the way, quickly finishes its illustration, before obediently popping back into Angie’s bag. Peggy can’t see what it’s drawn, but Angie can.

 

          A blush spread over her cheeks.

 

          The quill has drawn a rather obnoxiously large love heart on Peggy’s cheek, in sparkling red, and it has undoubtedly done this to reflect Angie’s feelings.

 

          Which isn’t okay.

 

          Oh, God.

 

          Peggy can’t walk into Transfiguration looking like that!

 

          ‘I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,’ she cries, hurrying over to Peggy who impatiently tries to rub off the ink. ‘Stop rubbing it, you’re only makin’ it worse!’

 

          ‘What did your bloody quill draw on me?’

 

          ‘Nothin’!’ Angie splutters, retrieves her wand and erases the ink from her cheek. ‘There. Better. C’mon, English, I’m late ‘cos a’you!’

 

          Late or not, it doesn’t matter, because apparently fate doesn’t want these two to attend Transfiguration this afternoon. Hand in Peggy’s, Angie rushes them down the hallway leading towards their classroom, and as she’s about to round the corner, something hard and heavy smacks into her face.

 

          Fortunately it isn’t that hard of a smack, but it hurts, and Angie yells out, collapsing into Peggy’s open arms.

 

          The Bludger whizzes past Peggy’s head.

 

          Peggy cannot believe her eyes. She glares at the Bludger, before turning her attention to Angie. Blood trickles from her nose, and she’s slightly dazed for a moment while she tries to find her balance. ‘Angie, are you all right?’ Peggy reaches over to touch Angie’s bruised face, but she senses the Bludger returning to attack Angie again. Before it has the opportunity to, Peggy furiously whips out her wand and points it in the direction of the approaching Bludger.

 

          As it approaches, Peggy thinks of the correct spell to use. 

 

          Before the Bludger is within range, Peggy is knocked to the side, hitting the wall. The Bludger zooms past.

 

          ‘Angie, what in God’s name do you think you’re doing?’

 

          ‘No, don’t!’ Angie grabs Peggy’s wand hand. ‘This is Howard’s work, he––’

 

          ‘Howard? I swear, I’ll rip him in two––’

 

          ‘Peggy! His plan _worked_. The Bludger is tryna show us somethin’.’

 

          ‘What?’

 

          The Bludger flies past again, but this time doesn’t wait for Angie to follow. Holding onto Peggy’s hand tighter, Angie runs after the Bludger, a confused and slightly irritated Peggy having no choice but to be dragged along. She keeps her wand at her side, yet does as Angie wants. She doesn’t destroy it.

 

          Not yet.

 

          While they dash after the Bludger, Angie calls back to her, ‘It’s gonna take us to whoever tampered the other Bludger at practice. Remember that?’

 

          Peggy isn’t exactly going to _forget_. Still, she doesn’t quite understand how this will, indeed, work successfully. 

 

          Somehow, the Bludger must have escaped the broom cupboard. Why it has decided to show _Angie_ where their target is, Angie isn’t so sure, but it could have something to do with the fact she was the last to return the Bludger. It’s bizarre how delayed the Bludger is in seeking their target, though. 

 

          Grateful for Peggy’s cooperation, it doesn’t take them long to catch up with the Bludger and be led towards wherever their offended is located.

 

          Outside. Near the Quidditch Pitch. Four Ravenclaw boys.

 

          Angie and Peggy recognise them at once.

 

          The Bludger smacks into the leader of the group, and his bones shatter under the impact.

 

          Angie cringes, lets go of Peggy’s hand and hurries over, desperate to stop the Bludger from attacking him further. Peggy stops a few metres away, not at all sympathetic for the boy’s injury. Angie manages to soothe the Bludger with a quick spell and, shockingly, it even lands in her hands and stays there.

 

          The Ravenclaw boys yell at Angie, and one even has the audacity to come over and grab her by the scuff of her collar.

 

          That is not on.

 

          Peggy’s voice resonates the Pitch, ‘Take your filthy paws off my friend!’ Instantly Angie is released. Peggy stands beside her, and retrieves her wand, pointing it at the four boys. ‘Ah, we meet again,’ she says, turning to the boy who was hit by the Bludger. ‘Did you like that fancy tail I gave you?’

 

          ‘I––’

 

          ‘Stop it!’ Angie snatches Peggy’s wand off of her, earning a very angry look. ‘Don’t look at me like tha’, either, English. You ain’t exactly a heart a’gold in the matter yerself.’ She turns to the Ravenclaws. ‘You wanna tell me why you tampered the Bludger during Slytherin Quidditch practice the other day?’

 

          The Ravenclaws exchange glances. One of them retorts, ‘What’s it to you?’

 

          ‘Everything,’ Angie says through jarred teeth. ‘You better speak up or I’ll make ya.’

 

          ‘Ooh.’ They laugh.

 

          Peggy scowls. ‘I doubt you’ll be _chortling_ when I give you all a nice pair of rabbit ears. How about another tail too? Then I can watch you all trip over them as you run away like the scared, little _chickens_ you really are.’

 

          Angie’s not sure if Peggy’s word choice is honestly that threatening, but the Ravenclaws aren’t about to argue back. 

 

          There’s something intimidating about a Hufflepuff and Slytherin glaring at you simultaneously. 

 

          Eventually one of boy cracks, ‘It was Donald! He tampered the Bludger. I begged him not to––’

 

          ‘Oh, piss off, Reiner, you thought it was a funny idea!’

 

          ‘Yeah?’ Angie snaps, ‘Some _funny_ idea!’

 

          ‘We didn’t know it would attack Carter like that.’

 

          ‘Urgh!’ Angie jabs Peggy’s wand in his face, causing the boy to whimper.

 

          ‘Calm yourself, dear,’ Peggy places a hand on her shoulder. ‘I believe them. They didn’t mean what they did.’ A pause. ‘That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t punish them for their _stupidity_ though. I think a bigger head is required for a bigger brain, don’t you think? You can store more knowledge that way.’

 

          ‘Don’t make my head big!’

 

          ‘Why? It’s the size of a peanut right now.’

 

          ‘I don’t want a big head!’ He screams.

 

          ‘Jesus,’ Angie mutters, amazed at how easy it was to frighten these pathetic students. 

 

          ‘Dear.’ Peggy outstretches her hand towards Angie. ‘May I have my wand?’

 

          ‘Here ya go, hon,’ Angie replies chirpily, more than happy to return her weapon. 

 

          Peggy grins crookedly, eyes menacing and spins her wand in her fingers. Now, now, now. She _could_ cast a spell on these morons, but that would cost she and Angie more points, and she’s managed to put Angie in enough trouble as it is. Oh, the temptation though! The way these idiots look at her.

 

          Scared to death.

 

          It’s actually quite thrilling.

 

          (And a nice stroke to her ego.)

 

          ‘How about a deal?’ The boys nod in sync, desperate for mercy. ‘You will gather as many Ravenclaws as possible to support my Team and I during the Match. I _will_ make sure, _at least_ , fifty of you will be in the Slytherin stands, cheering us along. In the meantime, don’t go anywhere _near_ the Quidditch Pitch, my teammates, Angie, or the Bludgers. Do we have an agreement?’

 

          They nod.

 

          Angie tries her best to ignore the fluttering sensation in her stomach at the mention of her name, at how Peggy holds herself, smug and delightfully cocky in her position of power.

 

          This girl is too much for her.

 

          ‘Oh, before I forget,’ Peggy adds,‘I _do_ have one last favour.’

 

 

 

 

 

          Later that day, Howard doesn’t ask about the flowers which four Ravenclaw boys give him, red in the face and looking as if they had walked through Hell and back. As far as Howard’s concerned, they probably did.

 

          The flowers are gorgeous, and he inhales their scent deeply, before reading the small note attached to the vase. 

> _Your plan actually worked. For once._
> 
> _With love and kisses,_
> 
> _– P_

          He grins wide.

 

 

 

 

 

          Anticipation buzzes in The Great Hall, and the rivalry between Ravenclaws and Slytherins starts to show. Aside from Howard, all the Ravenclaws refuse to go anywhere near the Slytherins and, aside from Peggy, all the Slytherins refuse to go anywhere near the Ravenclaws. It’s a temporary dislike, one Angie always finds so amusing. Quidditch rivalry, to her, is just dumb.

 

          ‘We get it: ya’ll got a lotta pride.’

 

          Dorothy passes where Peggy and Angie are sitting together, and they both look up as she walks by, her Ravenclaw Chaser beside her. There’s something very sweet about Ravenclaws when they try to act cunning; it’s always successful, but they’re not as obvious as Slytherins. They mask their mischief with charming smiles and their smarts. Ravenclaws are clever, the best of the lot, but they lack intelligence when it comes to scheming in the most unpredictable manner.

 

          Since Peggy has been Captain of the Quidditch Team, her matches are always unpredictable––she changes her Teammate’s formation, sometimes focussing more on her Beaters than her Chasers, sometimes paying no attention to her Beaters at all, and focussing her attention on her Seeker. This time around, attention has been paid to _all_ of her Teammates, but there is slight pressure on the Chasers to score one-hundred points. Peggy is a little uncertain if her Seeker will catch the Snitch.

 

          But if he proves her wrong, then she’ll be overjoyed.

 

          ‘You nervous?’

 

          Peggy turns to look at Angie, raising a brow. ‘Goodness, no. If I was nervous, then that would imply I wasn’t ready.’ She dips her quill into her ink. ‘We’re ready.’ Angie softens her expression. One would have to know Peggy _very_ well to hear the lack of confidence in her voice. ‘I have no reason to be nervous.’

 

          ‘'S right, English,’ Angie replies gently. ‘Just, uh… I know this Match means everything to ya––I get that, but if you _do_ lose, that doesn’t reflect how good of a Captain you are. It comes down to luck, right? That’s what it really narrows down to. I think anyway.’

 

          While she’s been speaking––or, _babbling_ ––Peggy’s expression has changed from worry to warmth. A remarkable transformation which leaves Angie flushing and stuttering for words. Peggy’s smile, her eyes, the way she watches her causes Angie to stop, laugh nervously, and look away.

 

          Suddenly her homework is _fascinating_. 

 

          ‘Anyway,’ she goes on, tapping her quill against the table, ‘I need to get this done. Yep. Needs to get done.’ Her mind _screams_ at her to just _stop talking for once in your life, stop yapping away_. To Angie’s relief, her mouth cooperates with her brain and she’s finally silent, and Peggy is relieved from her nattering.

 

          Unbeknownst to Angie, Peggy likes her nattering, her babbles, her desire to stay optimistic even in the most troubling times. It’s cute. It’s sweet. It’s so adorable, Peggy doesn’t know whether to squeeze her, kiss her or leave her be. ‘Thank you,’ she says, voice low. Angie twitches a smile, but keeps her eyes on her homework. 

 

          Peggy reaches over and takes her hand.

 

          Angie looks up abruptly, wide eyed.

 

          ‘Will you be there to support me?’

 

          It’s the most idiotic question Peggy has ever asked, but Angie has a feeling she didn’t ask for the answer. Angie plucks up the courage to look Peggy in the eye again. She can feel Peggy’s hand on hers, her palm soft and warm, and Angie squeezes Peggy’s hand in response. 

 

          ‘'Course, English!’ she laughs at the bizarre question. ‘I ain’t exactly gonna start supportin’ Ravenclaw, am I?’

 

          ‘No,’ Peggy says. ‘I just wanted to make sure.’

 

          ‘Pfft––you can be a real blockhead, y’know that?’

 

          ‘I know. At least I have you to keep me in check.’

 

          Angie tilts her head slightly. 

 

_Is Peggy… flirting with me?_

 

          Their staring contest is put to an abrupt end when they hear Howard passing by, clicking his tongue at the two of them. He winks at Peggy, wearing this smug, incredibly irritating grin. Peggy cocks a brow, and then notices the Ravenclaw Quidditch banner slung over his shoulder.

 

          Peggy gapes.

 

          ‘Excuse _me_ , Mister Stark.’ She’s on her feet.

 

          Happy to finally have a reaction, Howard stops and turns to her. ‘Miss Carter.’

 

          ‘Would you be so kind as to _inform me_ why you have that godforsaken banner?’

 

          ‘Oh?’ Howard shrugs his shoulder. ‘You mean this one? You mean the Ravenclaw Quidditch banner? You mean the banner for Ravenclaw House, which I am a part of? Well, I have it, because I support my House. Just like you do yours.’

 

          ‘You are unbelievable.’

 

          ‘Surely you’re not _hurt_ that I am supporting my own House?’

 

          ‘I am your _best friend_.’

 

          ‘You are? Oh. That _is_ news to me.’

 

          Peggy huffs. ‘Fine. Maybe not _best_ , but we’re close. We’re allies. We don’t take sides, Howard. I thought you were supporting me.’

 

          ‘He did bet against you, Pegs,’ Angie mumbles.

 

          Howard smiles. ‘See? So, why so shocked?’

 

          ‘I bought you flowers,’ Peggy snaps.

 

          ‘And they were beautiful, like yourself.’ Peggy gives him a dead-panned look. ‘Okay, clearly flatteries are getting me nowhere. Listen, I’ll be supporting you as well. I’m sitting on the fence.’

 

          ‘Of course you are.’

 

          ‘Oh, come on, Peggy, don’t be like that!’ Howard grins. ‘If you win, I’ll be filled with joy. If you lose… well, you know, I’ll sympathise.’

 

          ‘Go away, Stark.’

 

          ‘ _Okay then_. Bye, Angie.’

 

          ‘Bye bye.’

 

          Peggy sits back down, fuming. She doesn’t know why she cares about Howard’s lack of support, but honestly! After all they’ve been through? Oh, whatever. If her threat work, she’ll have plenty of Ravenclaws cheering her Team on.

 

          Giggling at her reaction, Angie shuffles closer, and hold Peggy’s hand again. ‘He’s just another idiot you’ve lost.’

 

          ‘True.’

 

          Before Angie can offer further pep-talk, they both watch as Steve comes running down the length of the table, beaming ear-to-ear. Peggy frowns at him when he approaches, and Steve needs a moment to catch his breath, before saying: ‘Peg, get your Team together. Bucky has convinced his Captain to have a small Match with you. Practice-wise, you know? They’re out on the Pitch right now.’

 

          Both Angie and Peggy are on their feet, and all three hurry out of The Great Hall in search of the Slytherin Team. They successfully find each of them, able to convince some of their Professors that they leave class early. Angie says she’ll meet Peggy outside on the Pitch while she and her Team change into their robes, but Peggy wants her to stay. She drags Angie into the changing rooms with her.

 

          ‘Be a dear, and keep a good eye on us. Tell me if anything seems off. I must know.’

 

          ‘I can do that,’ Angie says, passing over one of Peggy’s shoulder pads. ‘Try and avoid the Bludgers this time.’

 

          Peggy cocks a brow. ‘You think you’re funny.’

 

          Angie sniggers. ‘Sure do. And you think so too.’

 

          Peggy rolls her eyes playfully. Her Seeker, Robbie, comes hurrying over, already prepared, broomstick in hand. ‘Gryffindor have booked the Pitch for over two hours, and said they’re happy to play against us for as long as we want.’

 

          ‘Delightful,’ Peggy smiles. ‘Thanks. I’ll meet you out there.’ He hurries off. Peggy slips on her last shoulder pad, before tying her hair into a neat bun. Meanwhile, Angie is in slight awe at how gorgeous she appears. She has seen Peggy wear her Quidditch robes before, and every time, Angie has always thought Peggy fetching in them.

 

          But there’s something about her being in charge, about her determination, her passion to win––it’s _hot_. Peggy is hot. Peggy Carter _is hot_. Angie’s gaze drops to Peggy’s legs, in those skin-tight leggings, womanly shaped, yet firm legs; her thin boots covering her calves, up to her knees. Oh, Jesus.

 

          Angie exhales slowly and looks up at Peggy’s face when she turns to her.

 

          ‘I’ll see you afterwards.’

 

          ‘You will,’ Angie breathes. She snaps out of her daze, and passes Peggy her broomstick. ‘Be safe.’

 

          ‘You don’t need to worry about me, dear.’ 

 

          Peggy’s confidence shines, and Angie believes her, even if her worry grows when Peggy and she leave the changing rooms together. As they pass through the door and outside, Angie reaches for Peggy’s gloved hand, and squeezes once, just once, their eyes locking momentarily before Angie hurries off to join Steve at the sidelines.

 

          Both Captains meet in the middle of the Pitch and shake hands, a few words shared between them, before the chest is kicked open, the Quaffle is released, and the sky is a rain of broomsticks, red and emerald. Bucky does a good job at guarding the hoops, blocking a goal from one of the Slytherin Chasers. When it comes to Quidditch, it’s never really in good humour. The seriousness and severity of the game sinks in, and any player is at risk of being knocked off their broom.

 

          The Gryffindor Seeker is three years older than Robbie, which isn’t such a bad thing. But it means Gryffindor’s Seeker is more experienced, they know where to look. There is a risk, therefore, that Robbie won’t be the cause of Slytherin winning. The Chasers have to put in as much effort as possible to score. Passing the Quaffle to each other, while balancing on broomsticks, is tricky business especially when Gryffindor players dart about everywhere, trying to snatch the Quaffle.

 

          Peggy has been doing this for over fifteen years; her family are learned Quidditch players. It merely runs in the bloodline. So she knows how to dodge their swipes. In fact, she’s a bit of a show off, which Angie doesn’t really appreciate, especially considering what happened last time. 

 

          Quaffle tucked under her arm, Peggy shoots towards the hoops, where Bucky levitates, focussed and ready to block. A Gryffindor Beater charges at her, ready to whack a Bludger in her direction, but she spins rather elegantly out of his path and the Bludgers, making it look like such an easy manoeuvre. It’s impressive for the onlookers, and no one is particularly surprised when Peggy throws the Quaffle, it flying through the hoop, scoring them thirty points.

 

          The practice run resumes. Rose is in possession of the Quaffle, but it’s shortly outlived. The Gryffindor Captain barges into her, causing Rose to drop the Quaffle. A Gryffindor Chaser catches it and scores! A blur of emerald passes his view, and Peggy catches the Quaffle, hurrying for the hoops. 

 

          A Beater homes in on a Bludger, knocking it off target. Peggy reaches the hoops, straightens and throws the Quaffle towards the hoops. A Gryffindor tries to grab it, but the Slytherin Team’s formation catches him by surprise. It was planned that another Slytherin Chaser catch the Quaffle, making the Gryffindor player lose balance of his broom and nearly slip off.

 

          Peggy bluffed.

 

          Slytherin score again!

 

          By this point, Gryffindor are losing miserably, much to the Captain’s displeasure. He has his eyes on Peggy who is clearly scoring the most points. When she’s in possession of the Quaffle again, he purses his lips and flies towards a Beater, yelling a very specific order at him. The Beater chases after Peggy, raises his bat, and whacks a flying Bludger towards her. Peggy is too slow to see it.

 

          Her broom topples forward when the Bludger smacks into it, and the Quaffle slips out of her grip.

 

          If Peggy’s injuries were fully healed, she would have easily caught her balance. 

 

          Yet the impact of the Bludger is too much. She’s tossed off her broom and falls, landing heavily onto the Pitch below. The Gryffindor Captain merely blinks at the sight; she’s fine. She’ll regain consciousness. He just needs her out of the way for now.

 

          None of the Slytherin Team feel  _chummy_ after watching their Captain being kicked to the ground. Again.

 

          A Gryffindor player has a nasty fall when Thompson whacks a Bludger at him.

 

          Steve is on his feet by this point, eyes wide on Bucky as he struggles to block another Quaffle. Angie gasps when Peggy stirs only a few minutes later, rising to her hands and knees. The temptation to run over and see if she’s all right is hard to resist, but she’ll only cause further damage and disruption to the game. Steve watches Peggy as well while she scrambles to her feet.

 

          ‘Go, go, go,’ Angie whispers under her breath.

 

          Peggy wipes a hand over her face. Furiously, she snatches her broomstick and charges into the sky again, returning to the game as if nothing happened. If they’re going to play dirty, then she’ll play dirty, even if the slightest movement sends a shockwave of pain through her. She scores when Rose cheerfully passes the Quaffle to her. The Gryffindor Captain’s plan has been foiled, but he doesn’t order his Beater anything more.

 

          The next score is Gryffindor’s, but it’s their last.

 

          Bucky doesn’t stand a chance against Peggy, nor the wrath of her Teammates. Slytherin are _vicious_ , their fangs sharp as a viper’s when they zoom past, a wave of emerald and silver, scoring again, and again, and again––

 

          ‘Slytherin wins!’

 

          Applause rings from the audience below. Still in the air, Rose flies towards Peggy and shares a slight embrace, before patting Peggy’s cheek playfully. ‘Still got it, Carter.’

 

          ‘Well, of _course_.’

 

          Bucky comes over, and they shake hands. ‘Good game. Sorry about the Bludger.’

 

          ‘Don’t give it another thought.’

 

_Maybe_ Peggy will get her own back but, for the moment, she cares very little. Her Team won––they have a chance at winning against Ravenclaw! And that means the world to her. The thrill, adrenaline, makes her arms and legs tremble and she falls in love with Quidditch all over again.

 

           _This_ is what she loves.

 

          Winning.

 

          Elegantly, Peggy hops off her broom once she descends, and then Angie is running over towards her, her face beautiful and wonderful and happy and glowing like the sun. She throws herself into Peggy’s arms, and, laughing, Peggy lifts Angie off her feet and spins her around.

 

          Still wrapped in their embrace, hearts racing from their victory, Peggy leans in, holds Angie’s sweet face between her hands, and kisses her.


	5. 05

          When Angie first met Peggy, they were eleven-years-old. 

 

          Back then, Peggy was a quiet, relatively sinister thing. People thought she was shy, but the simple fact was that she didn’t want to talk. There wasn’t anybody in particular she grew a rapport with, so she kept herself to herself. 

 

          That was before she was partnered up with Angie in Charms class, and Charms has never been the most _exhilarating_ subject within Hogwarts, so Angie had a great opportunity in getting to know her.

 

          Who knew a Hufflepuff gal could be so funny, sweet and loyal?

 

          Peggy developed as a woman throughout the years. Her views started to shine near the end of First Year, and once she was an established Slytherin Quidditch player, her reputation bounced. Peggy wasn’t the shy, quiet girl in the corner anymore. She was fierce, she spoke up when she wasn’t supposed to; she had _opinions_ , and people had to _listen_ to those opinions. After Second Year, Angie watched Peggy become a leader.

 

          It took her and Howard roughly a fortnight to gather a generous amount of members into their new club: SHIELD. 

 

S: Sorting   
H: Hat’s  
I: Ingeniously  
E: Extraordinary    
L: Learning  
D: Divison 

 

          Although the name suggests otherwise, the purpose of Peggy’s club is simple: the focus is on minority groups, those oppressed in the Wizarding World, for example Muggle Borns, Half Bloods, those of a different skin colour, Witches in general, students with “complications” (werewolves, vampires) and those simply mocked for how they’ve been since birth, such as Animagi. 

 

          It is a platform where Wizards and Witches can come together, and discuss these issues. There, one can understand, learn about topics they know little about. The Slytherins are generally at risk of their ignorance. By Fourth Year, the majority of the Slytherin House had joined the club, and it went ahead with a blast. 

 

          Peggy highlighted political issues which were once brushed aside within Hogwarts; she was a teacher, and when she was voted as Quidditch Captain, she handed over her position in SHIELD to Howard, who accepted it earnestly. 

 

          When asked why she chose the name SHIELD, the answer was pretty obvious.

 

          Her club may be a place of learning, but also a place of protection. Those listed as “minorities” are welcome within the club, simply to be shielded away from the oppression they receive. Howard and Peggy were absolutely _chuffed_ when they realised they could, indeed, name their club SHIELD.

 

          It fits.

 

          And Angie was present every step of the way.

 

          So, when Peggy kisses her, rough and soft all at once, Angie catches herself smiling deliriously. Because what is she supposed to do? Walk away?

 

          Of course she doesn’t.

 

          Of course she grips onto Peggy for dear life, and kisses her with such intense enthusiasm, both girls forget they have the entire Quidditch Pitch observing in mixed states of awe.

 

 

 

 

 

          Afterwards, it’s sort of routine.

 

          Kissing, that is. Whenever there’s an opportunity. Be it passing each other in the hall, just before Peggy leaves with her Quidditch Team for practice, during essay writing, study periods. It’s funny, because Peggy _hates_ public displays of affection and, yet with Angie, _well_. She just can’t help herself.

 

          Because really, Angie is beyond _adorable_. Granted, Peggy has always found her Hufflepuff friend adorable––who wouldn’t? Angie is the epitome of happiness. Wherever she goes, whatever day it is, whatever atmosphere she walks into, Angie carries sunshine with her. However, now that they have stepped across the line between friendship and whatever this is supposed to be, Angie’s colours really do glow.

 

          For one, she’s selfless. She likes to treat Peggy with gifts, or spells which make rose petals flutter from the ceiling, or even leave silly, paper cut love hearts in a few of her textbooks. Her Quidditch Chaser, Rose, just rolls her eyes when she opens Peggy’s Divinations textbook, only to be bombarded with tiny love hearts.

 

          ‘Is it weird that I’m a little jealous?’ She asks.

 

 

 

 

 

          Bizarrely, the rumours surrounding Peggy and Angie’s relationship evaporate immediately once it is pretty much confirmed they’re dating. A lot of students struggle to accept the idea that a Slytherin is, indeed, dating a Hufflepuff. In fact, such a relationship is unheard of, romantic or not. 

 

          More and more posters are stuck across the walls, illustrating both Quidditch Teams. It’s difficult to tell which Team has more supporters, and Peggy wisely decides not to worry about that right now. Currently, she’s teaching her Seeker how to catch sight of the Snitch faster. The downside is that she’s never been a Seeker, and so Gryffindor’s Seeker offers to lend a hand.

 

          Peggy isn’t sure if he does this out of generosity or apology. After what the Gryffindor Captain did to her during practice, Peggy is convinced it’s the latter. Regardless, she says nothing and allows the two Seekers to discuss. It makes her job a heck of a lot easier if she only has to focus on the other players.

 

          It’s Tuesday evening, and they’re each donned in their emerald and silver robes. It is safe to say the Team has been practicing for, at least, five hours straight and one would be surprised how exhausting Quidditch is. 

 

          Thompson trips over his own feet on his way to the changing room, and falls splat on his face. 

 

          Grinning, Peggy _doesn’t_ help him up.

 

          She steps over his collapsed self, and spots a familiar young lady near the changing rooms. Her grin only broadens when she recognises the yellow robes, and wavy hair. Even if they’ve stepped into a different realm of their relationship, Peggy is still equally as pleased to see her as before.

 

          Nothing has changed.

 

          Well, except for the immediate kisses that follow. Angie kisses so tenderly each time, she always leaves Peggy staggering for more. Yet the two girls discipline themselves due to the fact they do have company. One member of said company being Thompson, who offers a wolf whistle in their direction.

 

          Angie flips him the bird.

 

          Once Peggy’s Team are inside the changing rooms, both she and Angie have the Pitch to themselves. Which is perfectly fine. They’ve been meaning to have a little privacy lately. What with the Match, coursework and exams approaching, the two barely see each other. It’s cruel irony. 

 

          Hand in hers, Peggy directs Angie over towards the stalls, sitting so close to her, their hips touch. Angie has to admit there’s something fetching about Peggy’s slightly mud stained face, how her robes are crumpled and messy from the flying and skidding in the dirt. Not to mention her hair, in disarray and out of place (always combed so tidily), is more attractive than Angie can admit.

 

          Even if Peggy looked her worse, Angie would still think her gorgeous. 

 

          ‘I’ve missed ya,’ she murmurs, snuggling against Peggy, neatly slotting her head beneath her chin. 

 

          Peggy squeezes her affectionately. ‘And I you.’

 

          They sit silently, Peggy’s hand idly caressing Angie’s back, studying the hoops high above. It won’t be long until she’s up there, with her teammates, Ravenclaw chasing for the Quaffle. At the end of the day, all a Captain can hope for is that her Team come out unscathed. Even _alive_. 

 

          It does bother her how belittled Quidditch is sometimes. Although it is _the_ sport in the Wizarding World, a lot of people just assume it’s flying broomsticks and having a good time. In reality, Quidditch is war. Quidditch is violent, monstrous and fatal. The amount of great players who have fallen to their deaths during a Match is remarkable, and horrifying. 

 

          Considering what has happened to Peggy these past few practices, she has every reason to worry about her Team’s survival. 

 

          Practice is practice.

 

          But a Match? No one _plays_ during a Match. They bite and push and shove and snatch and fight.

 

          And Peggy fights dirty. 

 

          The Captain is taken by pleasant surprise when Angie reaches for her gloved hand. For a moment, they study their intertwined fingers, the quiet breeze catching their robes. Then Angie sits upright, and proceeds to strip off Peggy’s gloves. She peels away the velcro, placing them neatly beside her.

 

          ‘How’s ya back?’

 

          Peggy blinks. Frowns. ‘Hn?’ Then she recalls. Oh. Her back. The part of her body which has caused her so much pain these past few days. She cocks a brow. ‘Healed considerably.’

 

          ‘Good.’ Angie kisses her cheek. ‘You need a bath, English.’

 

          Peggy flushes, and widens her eyes. ‘That––I _have_ just finished Quidditch practice. Do you honestly expect me to come out smelling like lavender?’

 

          ‘Look at you.’ Angie laughs. ‘Aw, did I hurt your feelings?’

 

          Peggy’s expressions drops. She gives her a dead-panned look. ‘We were enjoying a lovely moment together. Of course you ruined it.’

 

          ‘Well, I like t’be honest,’ Angie gazes fondly, curling a strand of Peggy’s hair behind her ear. ‘Don’t sweat it, English.’ She comes closer and whispers, ‘I still find ya agreeable.’

 

          ‘Oh, goody.’

 

          Angie smiles crookedly, eyes glinting. She pulls at one of the string to Peggy’s Quidditch robes. An angelic sigh escapes her parted lips as she “accidentally” unties the string. ‘Oops.’ The corner of Peggy’s lips twitch upwards. She does nothing while Angie continues to entertain herself. 

 

          Next it’s the shoulder pads. Angie has too much fun removing those, catching Peggy’s lips as the last shoulder pad is taken off. Angie wraps her arms around the back of Peggy’s neck and kisses her thoroughly. Peggy is more than happy to engage in a long makeout session, and leans back, hands balancing her, while Angie busily does as she wishes.

 

          Partway, Angie interrupts, much to Peggy’s annoyance. She grumbles in protest. 

 

          ‘You should know––’ Angie pecks her lips, ‘––that I spoke to Daniel earlier.’

 

          ‘Mm,’ Peggy says, eyes closed, clearly uninterested. She moves in for another kiss, but Angie dodges.

 

          Peggy opens her eyes.

 

          With Angie, it’s sometimes hard to tell what she’s thinking, but the way she looks at Peggy right now––she’s amused, a little stiff––and Peggy has to really think why Daniel is so important.

 

          And then she recalls the flowers.

 

          The fact Daniel asked her out.

 

          And she has yet to respond.

 

          Oh.

 

          ‘What did he say to you?’ Peggy growls.

 

          It’s almost scary how Peggy’s mood can darken so rapidly, but Angie is accustomed to Peggy’s protective side. Even if she feels like backing away at Peggy’s fiery eyes. ‘Nothing,’ Angie replies, running a hand through Peggy’s hair, ‘Jus’ wanted to know when you’d get back to him.’

 

          ‘About what?’

 

          Angie shrugs. ‘You tell me, English.’

 

          Those bloody flowers. Honestly! Peggy scoffs. ‘Unless he does, indeed, live under a rock, surely he’d know by now that my interest in him is, frankly, nonexistent. After all, I have more felicitous company.’

 

          Angie giggles. ‘Mm. Nice try, Pegs.’

 

          ‘What…?’

 

          Angie grins ear-to-ear. ‘You can try n’charm me. It ain’t gonna work. Those big words ya use have no effect on me.’

 

          ‘What big words?’

 

          ‘Oh. She’s gettin’ mad now.’

 

          ‘I do not use big words. This is how I _speak_.’

 

          Angie sniggers. ‘No kiddin’?’

 

          ‘Whatever Sousa said to you––’ She groans, ‘–– _ignore him_. I completely forgot about his invitation, _and_ the flowers.’

 

          ‘You did?’

 

          ‘Yes.’ Peggy pouts a little, and averts her gaze. Bashful. ‘I had… _distractions_.’

 

          ‘What kinda distractions?’

 

          ‘ _Feminine_ distractions.’

 

          ‘Is that what we’re callin’ this? Ah. Now I know what ta say when people ask if we’re datin’ or not: a feminine distraction.’ Angie smiles at Peggy’s unamused expression. ‘You’re too cute when you’re grumpy.’ She boops Peggy’s nose, causing the Captain to flinch in surprise. ‘Why’re Slytherins so _mean_?’

 

          ‘We’re not mean. We just find Hufflepuffs overbearing.’

 

          ‘Liar.’

 

          ‘Rude.’

 

          Angie nips Peggy’s lower lip. ‘Grumpy,’ she breathes.

 

          When she kisses Peggy again, she can feel Peggy smile, and a light chuckle escapes the back of her throat. It’s all flirtatious and soft at first. Until Angie gets wrapped into it a little _too_ much, and knocks Peggy up against the stand. She kisses her passionately, gradually slipping into Peggy’s lap, straddling her. 

 

          A soft moan breaks from her mouth at the sensation of Peggy’s hands pressing into her waist. Their hands fumble, bodies stuck together, robes hiding the workings of their limbs. Not that privacy truly matters. After all, no students are outside to catch them in the act, and the Pitch is off-limits to non-Quidditch players.

 

          Of course Angie is the exception to that rule.

 

          The two only detach themselves when it’s start to rain, and, deciding it best not to get caught in the downpour, they hurry into the school, hands touching; giggling in their mischief.

 

 

 

 

 

          It’s in a Slytherin’s nature to be territorial. That’s why Peggy doesn’t take Angie back to her Common Room, but, instead, follows Angie to hers. The Hufflepuff Common Room is as one would expect: cheery. It’s always laughter, games and balloons in the Hufflepuff Common Room. What with the students being right next to the kitchen, they manage to “borrow” a fair amount of food as well.

 

          The Hufflepuffs welcome Peggy inside with much enthusiasm, and it’s the first time Peggy realises she has a bit of a fanbase, and not necessarily with the Hufflepuffs either. Unbeknownst to her, students, particularly women, have admired her Quidditch skills, the fact she was the founder of SHIELD.

 

          Which Angie is totally okay with. To a degree.

 

          However when eleven o’clock has passed, and a First Year and Fifth Year gaze dreamily at Peggy from where she sits, discussing the politics and motives behind SHIELD, Angie loses her patience. She may have got jealous before, but, now, she has a _right_ to be jealous. 

 

          What with Angie being Prefect, she believes it’s perfectly acceptable to inform the First Year, who doesn’t mean any harm, that it is _well_ past their bedtime. The First Year scuttles away obediently. For somebody so small, Angie can be fierce, and Peggy watches in amusement while she orders the Fifth Year as well, who leaves with much more reluctance. 

 

          Aside from four Sixth Years, the Common Room is their own. Relieved and still envious, Angie plops down beside Peggy on the settee. ‘I’m glad ya feelin’ right at home here, English.’

 

          ‘Don’t you get all moody with me, little lady.’ 

 

          Angie doesn’t have time to retort. Peggy has already silenced her with her lips. 

 

          Neither have any objections to that.

 

          Afterwards, when the other Hufflepuffs have gone to bed, and Peggy lies across the settee, Angie nestled in beside her, does the fatigue start to kick in. Miraculously, they’ve managed to spend most of the day together, and, for now, it’s enough. Soon, they will be able to do this every day.

 

          They just need to be patient.

 

          Peggy is running her hand up and down Angie’s arm, eyes half shut, lost in thought. Angie doesn’t particularly want to fall asleep, but the way Peggy strokes her, how calm it is to be around her, how warm and soft Peggy is––Angie really does struggle to stay awake.

 

          ‘If you fall of your broom again, I’ll kick your ass.’

 

          Peggy smirks, and kisses the corner of Angie’s mouth. 

 

          The night flutters by, and Peggy stays, whispering quietly in Angie’s ear her promise. She’ll try, at least. She’ll try.

 

          A few snowflakes melt into Peggy and Angie’s robes, but no attempt is made to cease Angie’s delicate charm.

 

 

 

 

 

          The remaining few days pass in a blur.

 

          All Peggy can recall are the countless Quidditch practices, the times she’s snapped at her teammates for not doing what they’re told; the stress of knowing they have a mere matter of _hours_ before they’re up against Ravenclaw. And then that’s it. All of their hard work––done.

 

          She spends more time in her Quidditch robes than any other attire, and, by the end, she’s so fiercely attached to the idea of winning, one can’t really imagine Peggy without them. 

 

          Then the day arrives, it’s the morning of the Match, and even though Angie insists Peggy eats her breakfast, Peggy refuses to indulge.

 

          From the other end of The Great Hall, she catches Dottie’s eyes. She’s not eating either, but for an entirely different reason.

 

          Eight o’clock rings.

 

          Peggy can’t handle sitting around anymore; she needs to go, to be away from her potential crowd. Fortunately, a Chaser, Rose, is outside The Great Hall to meet her, and, for the last hour, they go over and over and over their routine in order to win the Match. The remaining members join them, and time’s up.

 

          Seconds before the audience find their seats, Angie meets Peggy in the changing room. A Slytherin scarf is wrapped around her neck, and she kisses Peggy roughly on the mouth. Even Steve has come out of his way to wish her good luck, and comforted that she has her two dearest friends on her side, Peggy feels considerably more at ease.

 

          Grabbing her broomstick, she meets with her Team onto the Pitch.

 

 

 

 

 

          During a Quidditch Match, the crowd sound like lions––roaring and screaming from their posts. Green and blue flags are waved frantically, large banners held up, most of them inscribed with “UNDERWOOD” or “CARTER” in big, bold letters, their House colour printed across. 

 

          Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs have either joined the Ravenclaws or Slytherins, and Peggy notes the lack of Gryffindor supporters on her side. Her ears _boom_ ; she can hear Underwood’s name being yelled over and over in triumph, the ring of students yelling at each other in protest about who will win; the grins and laughter as students gamble which Team shall be victorious. 

 

          From the other end of the Pitch, she watches the Ravenclaw Team stroll over to meet them. Peggy unintentionally stiffens, tense all over, while she watches Dottie come closer and closer, a charming smile plastered to her gorgeous features. It’s not that she finds Dottie’s appearance intimidating––Peggy doesn’t judge anyone’s worth based on their looks.

 

          It’s how she _walks_ , how she holds herself, how she smiles, beams at Peggy in such delight, one would be fooled Dottie was happy to see her.

 

          As is tradition, both Captains meet in the centre of the Pitch, and shake hands. Dottie has a strong hold. They don’t really shake hands, more hold them, squeeze a little, almost threateningly, almost admirably, before they detach. ‘May the best woman win,’ Dottie grins, flirtatious, vindictive, beautiful. 

 

          Peggy holds her gaze, and says nothing in return. The affection in Dottie’s expression weakens a little. Now they do stand apart, enemies, and a silent confirmation is passed between them that _neither_ shall hold back.

 

          The announcement is called. The referees take their positions, and the crowds drops into silence when the game is introduced. Dottie and Peggy’s names are yelled alongside their respective Teams, the crowds cheering for each, a few _boos_ and _hisses_ in Slytherin’s direction. Nothing unusual there. 

 

          Peggy smiles crookedly to herself.

 

          She can picture Angie in one of the posts, amidst green and silver, the yellows of her robes shining out like sunlight. That thought calms her heart. She exhales slowly between parted lips, and grips her broomstick tighter. Both Captains brace themselves, straddling their broomsticks in unison.

 

          The crowd is quiet.

 

          The Quidditch chest is kicked open.

 

          The Bludgers burst into life, desperate and thirsty for the skies. 

 

          The Snitch is gone in seconds.

 

          Dottie smiles at Peggy, spinning the bat in her hand.

 

          The Quaffle is released.

 

          Screams and yells and shouts erupt from the posts. 

 

          Dottie charges, straight past Peggy’s shoulder as their feet leave the earth. Peggy homes in on the Quaffle immediately, outstretching her hand eagerly, her fingers scraping the surface of the ball––

 

          –– _thwack_!

 

          A Ravenclaw darts into her. The Quaffle drops.

 

          Rose catches it, cursing at the Ravenclaw who barged into Peggy. It’s a mistake. She’s temporarily distracted in her fury, and a Ravenclaw snatches the Quaffle from her possession. Rose gapes, and then a cruel grin stretches her lips. No one should _ever_ play menacing with a Slytherin.

 

          She gestures at Thompson to beat a Bludger in the Ravenclaw’s path.

 

          The sound as the Bludger breaks the Ravenclaw’s arm is disgusting. The crowds cringe. Peggy snatches the Quaffle, and zooms upwards into the clouds, a Ravenclaw Beater chasing after her. A Bludger misses Peggy by a whisker. She’s aware of the Ravenclaw following. 

 

          One talent Peggy possesses which most Quidditch players don’t is perfect balance. She dips dramatically, too fast for the Ravenclaw to keep up, and all the crowd sees is a burst of green and silver, robes billowing, and then, the Ravenclaw Keeper jumps into life, reaching out for the Quaffle––

 

          ‘Score! Ten points to Slytherin!’

 

          Dottie passes Peggy, ‘Good work, Pegs! Let’s see how long you keep this one up.’ She winks wickedly, and elegantly flies in the opposite direction.

 

          Peggy decides not to think too much into Dottie’s words. She won’t allow their rivalry to distract her. Leaning forwards, Peggy accelerates, briefly contacting with the Snitch. Her Seeker zooms past her. The Quaffle is currently in possession of a Ravenclaw, and Peggy sees one of her Chasers is already in pursuit.

 

          The Quaffle is thrown.

 

          With such skill, the Slytherin Chaser catches it before it reaches the hoop. Before she completely loses balance, she chucks it in Peggy’s direction, who effortlessly catches the ball, and manoeuvres away from a charging Ravenclaw. She does an overarm throw, passing the Quaffle to Rose, and then it becomes a game of catch––almost a laugh, even. 

 

          The Slytherins _love_ mocking a game of Quidditch; making a joke out of the opposing side. 

 

          Ravenclaws do not share their sense of humour however.

 

          Peggy scores again: twenty points!

 

          A Ravenclaw bumps into her from behind, and they collide, their broomsticks tangling. Peggy kicks him off her, and, free from his clutch, she soars upwards, disappearing from view. 

 

          The Bludger misses Peggy deliberately, and hits the Chaser behind.

 

          Peggy doesn’t need to turn to see who she has lost.

 

          Rose exclaims, the Bludger breaking her ribcage, and she drops to the ground heavily. A _thud_ echoes the Pitch.

 

          Yells of protests and cheers burn in Peggy’s ears.

 

          She glares at Dottie, who’s proud of her work. Peggy has lost her best Chaser. Scowling, Peggy goes in search of the Quaffle, looking down quickly in case Rose stirs. She does not. The poor girl is unconscious, face down. 

 

          A Bludger is a few metres away.

 

          She observes Thompson _whack_ the Bludger at the Ravenclaw Seeker.

 

          It crushes his jaw.

 

          Peggy widens her eyes. And down goes Ravenclaw’s Seeker, bloody mouthed and limp. She grins devilishly at Thompson, and it’s the first time they’ve ever really been so happy to see each other. 

 

          Well.

 

          All’s fair in love and war.

 

          Somehow, Peggy manages to obtain the Quaffle, and she scores the next ten. The Quaffle is in her possession _again_ , and a Ravenclaw shouts at her in frustration. Before Peggy can reach the hoops, though, she sees Dottie from the corner of her eye, so fast and smooth, Peggy doesn’t realise it’s her until it’s too late.

 

          Dottie barges into her, and Peggy loses balance.

 

          The Quaffle slips from her grip. She topples sideways, her broomstick disobedient, and she hangs from it in the air. She can hear the crowds’ awe, their fascinating at what Peggy will do next. It takes a lot of upper body strength in order for Peggy to stay attached to her broomstick. And it takes a lot of balance to somehow get back on top.

 

          Dottie is not finished yet.

 

          She preys on Peggy like a wolf. Hungry. The speed of her flying impacts Peggy’s hold on the broomstick, and she struggles to stay holding on. Before Dottie can return to attack her, Peggy jars her teeth, and heaves herself up.

 

          The moment she’s back on her broomstick, Peggy flies off, Dottie in quick pursuit. 

 

          Dottie hits a Bludger at Peggy.

 

          Who swerves out of the way, but she’s going too fast, much too fast. The brush of Peggy’s broomstick scrapes across the earth, and she needs to level herself quickly before she tips over. 

 

          Peggy accelerates, digging her heels into the wood, and charges upwards, far into the sky, she and Dottie disappearing behind a heavy veil of puffy clouds. They’re soon too far away to be observed. Lost in a Match of their own. Dottie raises her bat, inches from Peggy’s heel. 

 

          This is how it’s going to be.

 

          One of them will have to fall.

 

          And Peggy is determined it will not be her.

 

          Not again.

 

          She looks back. Dottie is about to hit her with the bat––

 

          Neither are sure how it happens. Because the next moment, Peggy and Dottie are lost in some sort of physical fight, broomsticks barely keeping them up in the air. Peggy wrestles Dottie off of her, whilst simultaneously fighting Dottie off her own broomstick. If only she had her wand! Sometimes Peggy really finds the rules on magic during Quidditch ridiculous.

 

          She could really use her wand right now.

 

          No matter.

 

          Peggy kicks Dottie in the stomach, tries to fly ahead, but Dottie grabs onto Peggy’s robes, pulling her back. The Slytherin growls, headbutting Dottie from behind, her fist smacking into her cheek, hands grabbing the cuff of Dottie’s robes. Peggy hisses at her, and uses both feet to push Dottie away.

 

          It works.

 

          For a moment.

 

          Dottie needs a minute to control her broomstick. 

 

          Then they both see the Snitch.

 

          A glorious orb of light, and it’s wings flutter past, teasingly blocking Peggy’s view for a second. Greed and cunning force Peggy to reach out and take it––

 

          ––Dottie slams into her.

 

          They both plummet, breaking through the clouds. The crowds stand, pointing at the two brawling Captains. 

 

          Peggy wants that Quaffle.

 

          She _wants_ it.

 

          Dottie delays on trying to knock Peggy off her broomstick. She pays attention to Peggy’s Seeker, and Peggy is far too focussed in her own game to notice. Furious that Dottie has distracted her for so long, she aggressively steals the Quaffle from a Ravenclaw, and the Slytherin Team show off their menace; merciless and cruel in the skies.

 

          Hated but admired. 

 

          She sees the Ravenclaw banner, and her blood boils.

 

          Peggy stops, hits the Quaffle, and watches it swoop nicely into the hoop.

 

          Forty points!

 

          A Ravenclaw takes the Quaffle and zooms past. Before Peggy can reach him, he scores. Ten points to Ravenclaw. The wind bites her cheeks, nips her flesh, and she hungrily homes on the Quaffle again. That’s when she sees Robbie, her Seeker, panic-stricken.

 

          Dottie hits the Bludger.

 

          Peggy speedily blocks the Bludger with the thick straws of her broomstick. Robbie sighs in relief, and smiles gratefully at his Captain, quickly returning to the Match. 

 

          Ravenclaw score again!

 

          And then again!

 

          This time, Peggy nor her Beaters are quick enough to defend their Seeker. For his fingertips are inches from the Snitch, his back stretching out, desperately trying to claim it as his own––

 

          ––a Bludger smacks into his arm, and his bones shatter.

 

          Robbie cries out in agony, loses balance. He _thuds_ heavily into the ground, joining their Chaser.

 

          A shudder of protectiveness and fury rattle Peggy’s insides, and she can’t believe, _can’t believe_ , her young Seeker has collapsed. How _dare_ Ravenclaw do that to him? How _dare_ they?

 

          The Seekers are out.

 

          It’s down to the Chasers now.

 

          Two against two.

 

          And then there’s Dottie, a demon clutching its bat, grinning impishly at the sight of Peggy’s little Seeker unconscious on the ground.

 

          That’s when the crowds call, fists in the air, _screaming_.

 

          ‘ _Slytherin, Slytherin, Slytherin!  
          _ _They’re gonna go get a win  
          _ _‘Cos they got Peggy Carter  
          _ _And she is smart, smart, smarter!_ ’

 

          Dottie laughs, hitting a Bludger out of her way. The chorus continues, and Peggy can hear her name, again and again, and her body shudders with adrenaline. She passes one of the Slytherin posts, where they yell out for her, and she catches sight of blue, red and yellow in the crowd.

 

          There are Ravenclaws, Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs who call her name too.

 

          The Quaffle is thrown by the Ravenclaw Chaser. The Slytherin Keeper blocks it, and passes it to Peggy. 

 

          Slytherin score!

 

          At that moment, Thompson is knocked backwards. Dottie has thudded into him, and while she is, of course, unharmed, he is winded severely. But he turns, and beats a Bludger at her. 

 

          It hits.

 

          Dottie is surprised he caught her. Peggy’s eyes dance, and she furiously zooms in on her. Dottie is not prepared for Peggy’s assault. Peggy _lunges_ at her, and Dottie screams, her thighs slipping off her broomstick. Peggy catches Dottie by the scruff of her collar, face mixed with fear and menace, and forces the blonde to look at her.

 

          ‘Join your buddies downstairs.’

 

          And then releases her robes.

 

          Dottie is speedy, powerful, but not for this. Her back slams into the ground, and the fall knocks her out cold. Peggy continues the game, unnerved. Thompson gulps, and doesn’t know whether to feel smug or scared. He delves in both emotions, eyes on the Bludgers while Peggy tries to score again.

 

          Her other Chaser is inches ahead, and Peggy throws the Quaffle to her, and they score.

 

          Ravenclaw score next.

 

          Then again.

 

          Afterwards, it is Slytherin.

 

          ‘ _Slytherin, Slytherin, Slytherin!  
__They’re gonna go get a win  
__‘Cos they got Peggy Carter  
__And she is smart, smart, smarter!_ ’

 

          A blur of blue races past Peggy. Peggy turns her head. Gasps. Dottie has returned, and bats the Bludger at Peggy’s last Chaser. The Quaffle is chucked over to Peggy just in time, but her Chaser isn’t fast enough to dodge the Bludger. She spirals out of control, slamming into a Slytherin post.

 

          ‘Last one standing!’ Dottie growls.

 

          Peggy eyes the hoops. 

 

          Thompson flies over, a few inches above Peggy, observing each Bludger. He spots one. So does Dottie.

 

          But it doesn’t matter.

 

          Peggy scores.

 

          Only ten more points are required, and she will have won! Peggy sucks in a deep breath, and tries to reach the Quaffle. She fails. A Ravenclaw beats her to it. Dottie hits the Bludger.

 

          Thompson slips, the Bludger brushing past his shoulder.

 

          The shock causes him to lose balance.

 

          Peggy doesn’t dare watch. Instead, she chases after her Quaffle, but the Ravenclaw soars upwards, throws the Quaffle––

 

          ‘Eighty points to Ravenclaw!’

 

          It is an unfair match; Peggy is outnumbered, but she’s used to working alone. She is aggressive, and thuds into the Ravenclaw, taking the Quaffle from him. She doesn’t see Thompson, or her other Beater.

 

          Peggy charges for the hoop, holds her breath, slows, and, with every last ounce of energy she has, she throws the Quaffle towards the open hoop.

 

A Bludger smacks into the back of her head.

 

          Peggy bites down on her tongue, blood bursting into her mouth. She topples forwards, but is determined to stay conscious. _She promised not to fall_. She grips onto the broomstick, spitting out the blood, and watches as the Quaffle is blocked by the Keeper.

 

          A rush of defeat crushes her body.

 

          Try again.

 

          Ignoring the agony pounding her head, Peggy follows after the Ravenclaw Chaser. 

 

          ‘Score! Ninety points to Ravenclaw!’

 

          And then, it’s done.

 

          The last second passes.

 

          The Quaffle is through the hoop.

 

          Peggy comes to an abrupt stop, heart pounding, ribcage about to explode into shattering pieces.

 

          The Pitch sings with uproar.

 

 

 

 

 

    _‘Ravenclaw wins!’_

 

 

 

 

 

          Never before have Hufflepuffs been so eagerly welcomed into the Slytherin Common Room. A mix of Houses join the defeated students, including several Ravenclaws, and, despite their loss, there’s a sense of community in the air. They lost, but, damn, that was a good game.

 

          Peggy and her teammates played brutally.

 

          They lost, with ninety points.

 

          It is not their defeat which refrains Peggy from smiling, though. Rose and Robbie are in the Hospital Wing, and Peggy was informed they would be there for at most, three days, until their bones were healed. It took some convincing from Angie that it was best Peggy simply walked away.

 

          Let them recover.

 

          Celebrate your winnings with your House.

 

          You must heal, too.

 

          Peggy has not removed her Quidditch robes, still bloody and dirty from the Match. Her left eye bloodshot, lower lip split slightly. Food is offered to her by a fellow Hufflepuff to which Peggy politely declines. 

 

          The Ravenclaw boys she threatened previously even have the courage to approach her, and congratulate her for such a good Match. 

 

          Then there’s Howard. He stays for a while. A long while. Peggy appreciates his company now more than ever, and when he talks about the Match, what went wrong, what went right, she registers a hint of bitterness in his tone. 

 

          At the end of the day, it’s obvious who he was rooting for. 

 

          Aware of his friend’s grief, Steve comes over to sit with her.

 

          ‘I’m proud of you.’

 

          At that remark, Peggy feels tears sting her eyes and smiles at him warmly. Although Steve isn’t very good with words, he manages to soothe his friend effortlessly, and she allows him to embrace her. Peggy is still tense from the Match, and he rubs her back affectionately. 

 

          ‘We’ll get her back.’

 

          Peggy cocks a brow. ‘Who?’

 

          ‘Underwood. I know Gryffindors aren’t very good at creating cunning plans, so I might have to rely on you for that. But if you think up of anything, I’ll help.’

 

          ‘Thanks. I may have to put a rain check on that for now.’

 

          Peggy has no desire for vengeance. All she wants is for her teammates to be okay. A few Slytherins play rather loud music, and the Common Room bursts into life. Green flags are waved, Slytherin banners hung from the ceiling, and the room is emitted in emerald. It’s gorgeous, and a sense of pride swells in Peggy’s chest when the attention is diverted to her.

 

          Fortunately, her House have no intention of sulking. 

 

          They encourage her to stand, and she cracks a grin when a few Slytherin boys lift her off her feet, carrying their Captain on their shoulders. And, just like that, Peggy is all right again. She is celebrated, the Houses celebrate _for her_ , and her few teammates in the audience bask in their glory too.

 

          The loss is forgotten.

 

          What matters is that they came out alive, and that they lost with all guns blazing.

 

          Once her feet meet the floor, she takes Angie’s hands in her own, so terribly in love with the sight of her girlfriend still donning Peggy’s Slytherin scarf. And despite the result of the Match, Angie smiles for her, deliriously proud, and kisses––of all places––her nose. 

 

          And, really, Peggy didn’t lose _at all_.

 

          As soon as Peggy is able to flee from the mass of students, she guides Angie out of the Common Room. They search for an empty classroom together. Finding that the Charms classroom is empty, Peggy escorts her inside, and the moment she turns to face her, Angie wraps Peggy in her arms and cuddles her fiercely.

 

          Peggy hides her face into the crook of Angie’s neck, and they sway slightly. Angie inhales Peggy’s scent, fingers soothingly running through Peggy’s hair. The smell of Quidditch emits from Peggy’s robes, and Angie caresses her sore body until her girlfriend is stable, until she can catch her breath.

 

          ‘I saw ya out there,’ Angie whispers, ‘And you were beautiful, English.’

 

          Peggy kisses her on the mouth, arms coming around her waist. They press into each other, loved and praised for all that they are.

 

          ‘I couldn’t have done it without you by my side. Thank you––for everything you’ve given me,’ Peggy brushes the back of her hand across Angie’s cheek, ‘Maybe next time, you will watch me win in flight.’

 

          ‘Maybe,’ Angie murmurs against her lips. She smiles. ‘But, I ain’t got a problem with you stayin’ on the ground for now, Pegs.’

 

 

 

 

 

          She counts her winnings.

 

          The loss of the Match. The support of her House.

 

          Her girl.

 

          Peggy decides, against the odds, that it is _she_ who stepped down with gold around her neck.

 

          And all of it, every second, is worth the peril.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sequel?
> 
> I may write a series of these stories; the next one possibly focussing on Angie's trials. Plus, I'm keen to delve further into the Wizarding perspective of SHIELD.
> 
> Thank you for sticking by me! This has been so much fun to write; I never thought it'd go successfully. I hope you liked the final chapter. Do share your thoughts! 
> 
> From October, I'm going to be very busy. My schedule shall be hectic, so I'm uncertain how frequent my updates will be.  
> For updates concerning my stories, do find me on Tumblr. My url is wreckofherheart.
> 
> Also! I am about to publish my second story, a novella, revolving around three siblings and the events which happen to them in the space of one day. I shall keep you all updated on when the story shall be published in paperback and Kindle over on Tumblr too.
> 
> Until next time!


End file.
